Synthetic Waves #PlanetOrPlastic

Untitled part

 I remember the exact moment I knew that I loved him. It was getting late and the sun was nearing the end of it's decent into the sea.

We where trying to catch the last few waves before it got too dark to safely remain in the water, and although we'd been at it all day I couldn't help but feel sad that it was almost over. My arms hurt from all the paddling and I could feel the sunburn heating up my back, but those things didn't bother me. What did bother me was the lump of plastic I'd collected over the afternoon that pressed into my leg from the pocket of my board shorts.

The pocket had filled up pretty quickly, so I'd also stuffed a plastic bag and an empty instant noodles package into the the waistband of my bikini bottom, not to mention the countless straws that where crammed into the sides of my sports bra.

When we'd stoped for lunch I'd emptied it all out, dumping the garbage I'd collected into the rusty barrel, someone had pointed to when I'd asked for a bin. It was nice to give my skin a rest from the edges of the bent straws, that dug into my flesh every time they got pressed between the weight of my body and the hard surface of my board. But I knew that there was a chance the contents of that 'bin' would end up back in the ocean. There was simply more plastic on the island then the people knew what to do with.

We where paddling out one last time, when my eye caught what looked like a plastic sheet, 20 or so meters away. It was big, too big to try to cram into my bathing suite.

I pointed it out to him, expressed my disgust, and before I knew what was happening he'd turned his bored and was paddling towards the large, white film that was moving further and further away. I could appreciate the sentiment, but I doubted he'd get there.

Tuning away, I continued to paddle out when I noticed a rather big wave forming in the distance. Looking back at him a I realised he wouldn't make it to the plastic sheet before the wave reached either of them, and with the way he lay parallel to it, he'd probably get knocked off his board.

Once the wave had passed under me I sat up on my board and looked to find him. Neither his blond hair, not the yellow of his surfboard where to be seen. I was sure the wave had caught him off guard. And then I noticed it. Behind the wave, moving with it, was the plastic sheet, being help up into the air by a hand that waved it as if it where a flag. He'd done it. He'd caught both the wave and the plastic.

That's when I knew I was in love.