A Moment Alone with the Waves of Hawaii (OPEN)
Apr 28, 2013 19:34:28 GMT -5
Post by Amna Aman on Apr 28, 2013 19:34:28 GMT -5
Amna took a deep breath. It smelled like rain and wildflowers outside the small house she, Malala, and Charity called home. It was nestled somewhat higher up the lone peak of the little island than the other houses, with a view downwards to Charity’s parents’ house. It was quiet for the simple fact that Charity had taken Malala with her to daycare. Charity owned the local daycare and preschool, leaving it only to do her tour in Afghanistan or on emergency, and liked to bring Malala along for the social experience. It also had the added effect of leaving Amna with nothing to do for the day. Something that seldom happened over the last two years.
So, she turned back inside and decided to dress for the beach. It was warm, the storm had blown far enough away to create perfect waves for a joyride, and Amna had an entire afternoon to take advantage. Something that she never could have done with her husband. Not having a husband was an uplifting experience. It took Amna years to come to realize the comfort of freedom and the simple pleasure of living without fear in her own home. Smiling at the thought that maybe the beach would be sparsely occupied, Amna shoved all thoughts of her past from her mind and changed into a pair of skintight pink Capri swim shorts and a white tank dress swim top. She had spent hours pouring over a serger and practicing in order to figure out how to work with the strange, stretchy material but had finally figured out how to make her own swimsuits. Less coverage than her day-to-day attire, but still quite modest. Tossing a light shrug over her shoulders, Amna went to the mirror and pulled her hair back. Carefully, she pulled the specially fitted hearing aid from the hole that was once her right ear and set it on the vanity. Then, she packed the hole with a molded earplug and slid a headband of her own design into place over both of her ears and skirting her hairline. This protected her damaged ear and, somehow, made her feel less self-conscious about not wearing a hijab… which was really hard to surf in.
Packing the essentials, Amna slipped on a pair of flats and took her skateboard (another of Charity’s influences, and really the easiest way to get around the small island) from the wall. Charity’s board had to be moved in order to get to her own in the shed, but once Amna had everything, she walked down the steep hillside to the main road, set down her skateboard, and gently rolled on down towards the beach. Being that asphalt was a lot more damaging than water upon impact, trick skating wasn’t her thing. She simply used it for solo transportation.
Luckily, the offseason, middle of the week and middle of the day conditions kept most surfers from taking similar advantage to such a good day. Only a few people were out surfing. Setting up a little basecamp near the lifeguard station. Sun lotion was generously applied and a proper waiting time allotted. Amna was nothing but carefully responsible. Directions were always read, carefully translated, and followed. Even those that seemed silly to most Americans. Once every precaution was observed, however, Amna ran for the water sans-board and dived in for a swim. Swimming had been the first thing she had learned after English. While staying with Charity’s parents in recovery, she had often wondered about the square in-ground pool behind their house. She thought it was supposed to be a pond, naively. But later, Charity’s father took her outside and dove in, demonstrating that it was for recreation. Explaining the pool to her helped Amna learn English because it was something she was genuinely curious about. As she learned to communicate, she learned to swim. Charity had found this to be hilarious and demanded her parents send her pictures of this phenomena while she was still stuck on tour in Afghanistan.
The water was clear and cool, with a tolerable pull. It was exactly the kind of relaxation she needed. Clear headed, Amna stared down at her toes in the soft sand and watched the wildlife basking in the shallows.
So, she turned back inside and decided to dress for the beach. It was warm, the storm had blown far enough away to create perfect waves for a joyride, and Amna had an entire afternoon to take advantage. Something that she never could have done with her husband. Not having a husband was an uplifting experience. It took Amna years to come to realize the comfort of freedom and the simple pleasure of living without fear in her own home. Smiling at the thought that maybe the beach would be sparsely occupied, Amna shoved all thoughts of her past from her mind and changed into a pair of skintight pink Capri swim shorts and a white tank dress swim top. She had spent hours pouring over a serger and practicing in order to figure out how to work with the strange, stretchy material but had finally figured out how to make her own swimsuits. Less coverage than her day-to-day attire, but still quite modest. Tossing a light shrug over her shoulders, Amna went to the mirror and pulled her hair back. Carefully, she pulled the specially fitted hearing aid from the hole that was once her right ear and set it on the vanity. Then, she packed the hole with a molded earplug and slid a headband of her own design into place over both of her ears and skirting her hairline. This protected her damaged ear and, somehow, made her feel less self-conscious about not wearing a hijab… which was really hard to surf in.
Packing the essentials, Amna slipped on a pair of flats and took her skateboard (another of Charity’s influences, and really the easiest way to get around the small island) from the wall. Charity’s board had to be moved in order to get to her own in the shed, but once Amna had everything, she walked down the steep hillside to the main road, set down her skateboard, and gently rolled on down towards the beach. Being that asphalt was a lot more damaging than water upon impact, trick skating wasn’t her thing. She simply used it for solo transportation.
Luckily, the offseason, middle of the week and middle of the day conditions kept most surfers from taking similar advantage to such a good day. Only a few people were out surfing. Setting up a little basecamp near the lifeguard station. Sun lotion was generously applied and a proper waiting time allotted. Amna was nothing but carefully responsible. Directions were always read, carefully translated, and followed. Even those that seemed silly to most Americans. Once every precaution was observed, however, Amna ran for the water sans-board and dived in for a swim. Swimming had been the first thing she had learned after English. While staying with Charity’s parents in recovery, she had often wondered about the square in-ground pool behind their house. She thought it was supposed to be a pond, naively. But later, Charity’s father took her outside and dove in, demonstrating that it was for recreation. Explaining the pool to her helped Amna learn English because it was something she was genuinely curious about. As she learned to communicate, she learned to swim. Charity had found this to be hilarious and demanded her parents send her pictures of this phenomena while she was still stuck on tour in Afghanistan.
The water was clear and cool, with a tolerable pull. It was exactly the kind of relaxation she needed. Clear headed, Amna stared down at her toes in the soft sand and watched the wildlife basking in the shallows.
