I normally love going to the beach. The sun always feels great and the sand just doesn’t bother me. This time, I’m not enjoying it so much. There’s a little girl who swam a little too far out, and she’s struggling to make it back to shore. At first I assume that she’s a weak swimmer, but then I catch a glimpse of a dark shadow; a large fin peeks above the waves. There’s something trying to pull her down, and she’s going to die if no one helps.
Multiple people are witnessing her scream out for help, but I’m the first one to make it to the lifeguard. I run up to him and breathlessly plead for him to save her before she gets torn to shreds. He smiles at me the entire time with crooked teeth, and it’s a little too wide like he’s compensating for something. I notice that even though he hasn’t gotten wet yet, just dusted with sand, his hair is soaking. Or, it appears to be. It doesn’t drip but it doesn’t reflect the sunlight quiet right. I get the impression that he’s not supposed to be on land somehow. Maybe he’s one of those sea creatures in disguise.
The lifeguard pats me on the shoulder and says, “Justin and I are gonna get her out in a jiffy, dude. Don’t even worry about it.” He’s pretty toned, and his hand feels like a ten-ton weight. He picks up Justin, a blue and white surfboard, and boards it as if it’s got wheels. It levitates a few inches off the ground and propels him towards the ocean fast enough to kick up a cloud of sand. His hair flows behind him, but it’s still wrong. Tamped down by water that doesn’t exist. As he nears the water he brings his feet together, crouches as low as possible, and swan dives into the sea with the grace of a professional. He’s a fast swimmer, and all the beachgoers and I are awestruck by how quickly he reaches the girl. Just as he’s about to grab her, he gets yanked under, and we gasp.
The creature lets go of the girl, and she clambers onto Justin. The surfboard returns her to her grateful parents, then plants itself upright in the sand. I can only imagine how the lifeguard could be doing so well that he’s not only controlling his surfboard from under there, but willing to go back to shore without it. The water’s choppy where he is, and I might be mistaken but it could be turning red.
Finally, five minutes later, he walks onto the shore. Not swims, walks. Like he’s returning home from a stroll. Like the sea laid out steps for him to safely return to his throne, the lifeguard’s tower. The creature he ostensibly killed doesn’t follow. He whistles, and Justin returns to his side, hovering right next to him like it’s his pet dog. After he takes a minute to check on the girl, he leans against his tower and exhales. I never strayed from it, so I’m close enough to stare at him with ease.
And I do, because there’s so much to take in. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s breathing heavily. There are scratches up and down his left arm, but they’re healing quickly. This is only my second time at this beach, but I heard that the sun makes him stronger. That rumor must be true. A disproportionate amount of water is dripping from his eyes, and I realize that he’s crying.
“Are you okay? Should you take a break?”
The lifeguard cocks his head, but he’s still smiling. “Break from what? I’m doing fine.”
“You’re crying, and you were under there for a while. Seems like a lot to handle.”
“Oh, those aren’t tears.” The lifeguard wipes some of the water from his face and beckons me closer. “You’re new around here, right? Wanna see something cool?”
I awkwardly step forward and nod.
He grabs a gold-colored towel and shows me his forearm, the one that isn’t injured. He wipes it off with his towel, but just a moment later it grows wet again. Water is seeping out of his pores like sweat. I can smell the salt. It’s sickening, yet fascinating. “It’s all seawater, dude. In a few minutes I’m gonna start coughing it up.”
“Coughing?” It sinks in that he was under there for over five minutes. “Are you dead?” Ghosts do exist; maybe this guy is a fluke, a dead spirit so powerful that he still has flesh and vocal cords like the living.
The lifeguard just cackles at me. “You’re not the first person to guess that! Nah, I just love the ocean. I don’t let the things I love kill me—” He holds up an index finger and clamps his other hand over his mouth. He doesn’t cough, he retches, and a mix of seawater and bile spills between his fingers. Then he doubles over again, retching more and thumping his chest to push the water out. He looks like he’s in agony, but he manages to point at me, then to a bucket sitting next to one of the tower’s legs. I bring it to him and he coughs more seawater into it. At some point he stops coughing and just lets his mouth hang open, and the water falls out on its own. If this was my first time seeing a magical being recover from injury, I’d feel sick.
When he’s finally done, he shakes himself out. This includes shaking his hair around to dry it off, spraying water on me. He squeezes the rest out, although it doesn’t look any drier. “Thanks for doing me a solid with that bucket.”
“Yep.” I can’t help but ask, “Does the ocean love you back?”
The lifeguard snorts. His smile looks fake but he must genuinely enjoy this job if he’s laughing so much. “The ocean fucking hates me. I swear it fills my lungs with more and more water each time I swim in it longer than I’m supposed to.”
I get what it’s like to be hated by the ocean. We don’t touch the Underside’s sea because it’d probably eviscerate us if we did. It stains the sand with malice. “But you swim in it anyway?”
“The ocean wants to abide by the rules of nature and punish everyone who breaks them. On the other hand, if I don’t want to die, then I won’t. We’re at an impasse. Might sound bad to you, but I think it makes the job more interesting.”
I don’t respond immediately. I’m mulling his words over. The lifeguard takes my silence as permission to continue. “I mean, do you know how good it feels when you’re holding on to just a single breath of air for so long your lungs start to burn, and then you just… let go? It’s a relief when the ocean tries to drown me, ‘cause then I don’t have to think about breathing at all. It’s kinda like I am the ocean.” He glances at the bucket, and my eyes follow. There’s at least five inches of sea-barf in there.
“You’re a demon of the ocean,” I guess. He looks entirely human on the outside but he’s got the unsettling energy of one. Demons represent the aspects of the world that humans don’t like.
The lifeguard digs a hair tie out of his pocket and puts his long, wiry hair into a ponytail. The style fits him; his bangs frame his face perfectly. “Wrong again! I’m a demigod.”
“Oh.”
“Dude, I said ‘kinda like.’ The ocean hates me so I just force myself in, y’know? It’s not that deep.” He quirks an eyebrow slightly, silently demanding me to agree. I do, and his eyebrow drops. “Well, I can’t let myself get too distracted. Thanks a million for getting my attention. People like you make the beach a better place!”
“Sure thing.” I back up and speed walk to my towel. I don’t want to leave just yet because I’ve only been here forty-five minutes, but I am worried. I wonder what this lifeguard is the demigod of, exactly, that makes him so alien to the beach yet so at-home.