Once Luke and the cooler are safely back onboard, the wind gets progressively worse. The boat is being thrown more than tossed now. We get past the breakwater, and I don’t know it yet, but that means shit is about to go down. We take our electronics belowdecks and wrap ourselves in sweatshirts and jackets. Luke trims the sails—which is a thing you do on a boat—but it doesn’t feel like it’s made a difference. The conditions are a little distressing now and we look at each other with goofy, surprised expressions, the way you do when an elevator jolts. It’s scary but it’s fun and we can already imagine ourselves telling the story later. We make roller-coaster noises to confirm that yes, this is fun, we’re having fun.
The water gets rougher and starts crashing over the sides of the boat. I’m worried about my hair getting wet and having that “attacked by a raccoon” look in front of this new boy, but I don’t want to seem high maintenance at a time like this. The swells only get higher, and soon what’s coming over us isn’t foamy spray but thick sheets of blue water. I want to ask if this is normal, but I don’t dare. I’m afraid of drowning but more afraid of looking ignorant and hysterical. Now that we are wet, I am unbearably cold. I go belowdecks to change, and maybe to do the cowardly thing and stay down there for a while. Turns out the feeling of motion sickness is fifty times worse belowdecks, and I run back up, still in my soaked hoodie. That’s fine, I think, better to be up here anyway. Solidarity and all that.
The wind gets worse. No one is joking or making roller-coaster noises anymore. In fact we can’t remember how we could ever have been so cavalier about the sea. The Captain is at the helm with a tight smile, reassuring us that he’s not worried; he’s seen worse. Luke is crouched down, bracing himself. He looks serious and ready for a fight. The rest of us are stone-faced, white-knuckling anything that’s nailed down, as wave after wave comes over the boat. Then, before I even realize it’s happening, I am throwing up.
I manage to thrust my body toward the side of the boat but I’m still clinging to the center of the cockpit with one hand, so my breakfast, the handful of chips, and the hippie Dramamine go all over the deck. I stay in my awkward position, not wanting to face the group of seasoned sailors. I know that under the circumstances no one will be angry, but I’m still humiliated. With waves coming over us at ten-second intervals, the evidence is washed away almost immediately, but I still don’t turn around. I am a pathetic, weak-stomached crybaby and I’ve never been so embarrassed.
Then, before I even realize it’s happening, Luke is throwing up beside me. For one moment I am relieved but it is short-lived. The first mate is violently throwing up next to me. This is a terrifying development. I’m a girl about to die on a boat, who just moments ago was a girl embarrassed about throwing up on a boat. I long for that simpler time.
I turn back to the Captain. He is no longer smiling.
Whitney throws up. Brian throws up. Cecily goes belowdecks to throw up. She returns cradling her cell phone to her ear, risking its destruction to call her fiancé and say “I love you.” I think about the last time I had to swim hard, but I’ve lived in LA for years, where no one actually goes to the beach unless they’re staging a romantic paparazzi shot to dispel gay rumors. It’s been a very long time. I throw up again.
Who had we been an hour before? Who were those goons laughing and joking about the high waves? How could we have ever been so arrogant in the face of this inexhaustible power? We must be nearly there, we must be.
I still feel sick so I try to focus my gaze on a fixed landmark. I look back toward the California mainland but it’s nowhere to be seen. I notice the Captain’s galoshes are full to the brim with seawater, dark liquid splashing over the tops as we lurch. I stare at his overflowing boots while we hear mayday calls come over the radio. I don’t care about my hair anymore.
The journey goes on and on, and just as Whitney starts apologizing to us, the waves start to get smaller. The Captain puts his tight smile back on to tell us it’s getting better and he was never worried; he’d been through worse before anyway.
When we see land we behave like children who just found out the neighbor’s scary dog is chained to a pole. Take THAT, ocean! You can’t get us now! With no immediate threat to my life, I remember that I am in the presence of a hot guy and deflate a little knowing that I look like a drowned rat and probably blew it when I threw up the second time anyway.