Lifeguard

"Hey, look down the beach at this guy in the surf," my wife suggested while sunning on the sands in Hawaii.

"No thanks.  I'm okay just laying here," I replied while laying face down in a lawn chair.  I had just finished snorkeling like the ultimate tourist where possibly half of the Pacific Ocean was swallowed through the stupid black tube.

"I'm serious, look at this guy," she repeated with slightly more emphasis.

"Naw, I'm pretty comfortable just the way I am," I answered.  I had wiggled and found the "sweetspot" of the lounge chair and looking down into the surf would require me to raise up, rotate and then lift my head. Then, to actually look, I would need to open my eyes.  Such effort would surely scramble the webbing on the chair to the point that the sweetspot would be forever lost.  I didn't want to risk it.

"Would you please look?  I'm worried," was the final request and I looked where she pointed.

Kids frolicked in the shallows where waves splashed about their legs while larger people were scattered in deeper water enjoying a variety of activites.  The hustle and bustle made it easy to overlook the man laying on his back in the surf. 

He was skinny and pale white and was being tossed about with the incoming wave, only to be  sucked back immediately as the wave retreated.  Right at the surf line where the outgoing wave circulates with the body of water, and just prior to another incoming wave, he remained motionless.

Another incoming wave crashed in and had its way with him and then sucked him back for a repeat cycle.  I questioned if he was just "doing his thing" as I approached, but then noticed the watery sand mixture swirling in his closed eye sockets and I called out to him, "Are you okay?"

No response, so I asked again where he slightly shook his head.  Reaching down, I grabbed his frail arm that was across his sunken abdomen and lifted him out of the big suction cup.  I supported him on his bony legs as he spit out sand and water, coughed and, did he just puke the same mixture?

Taking a solid hold of him while he struggled on feeble legs, we crossed the beach and sat on a short wall made of lava rock.  He gurgled his name being Gaylin from Salt Lake City and had flown nonstop for a 3 day vacation with his wife.  He was retired and commented that he wanted to feel the ocean.  So, he carefully shuffled to a depth not even to his knee, but the waves knocked him down where he discovered he was too weak to get out of the ocean. 

The more he spoke, the more his raspy breathing appeared to improve, and he was not sure where his wife could be since it was getting late. 

I grabbed a security guard for the resort who took over caring for Gaylin.  While returning to my wife, a nearby young couple caught my attention and asked if I knew the man I pulled from the surf.  I explained that I did not and they said they had also noticed him struggling and were about to help when I had arrived.  They thanked me like Gaylin was part of their family.  I'm not sure I needed thanked.  Isn't that what fellow human beings do, or are at least suppose to do, for one another?

After settling into my chair and explaining to my wife what had transpired, the same security guard approached.  He informed us that Gaylin's wife, suffering from dementia, had wandered off the premises and they had brought her back and fortunately reunited her with Gaylin.

A potentially real tragedy had turned instead into happy ending due to a quiet hawk scanning the beach and being persistent in making me double check her concerns.

And, to top off the good news, the elusive sweetspot was again found.