Free Indigo Road by RJ Jones

weather was calm that day, but the sky
was full of ominous clouds and it was pretty cold. Oregon weather
sucked. The waves crashing on the beach matched the color of the
sky, and I wanted to head south sooner rather than
later.
    When I awoke in the morning, I climbed out of bed and
walked down to the sand without waking Alex. The sky had cleared
from the previous day, but the ocean still churned and there was a
chill in the air the sun hadn’t been able to chase away that early
in the morning.
    There was a
surfer cutting through the waves like a pro, a lone black dot in the ocean. I wondered where he had
come from as there were no other cars in the lot and no homes close
by.
    I sat on the
sand, burying my feet while I watched him ride on the water. He was graceful, letting the waves take him
where they wanted. When he tried to do something against the waves’
wishes, he was dumped violently. I held my breath until I saw his
head pop up, and he climbed back onto his board, ready to start the
process all over again.
    After
he got dunked
again, he straddled his board, raised one hand, and waved. I looked
around, thinking maybe one of his fellow surfing buddies had come
to join him, but there was no one else there.
    He continued
surfing, and I continued watching him, mesmerized by his poise and how in-tune he appeared to be with the
ocean. After long minutes, he rose out of the water and walked
toward me with the same grace on land as he had in the sea. He
shook his long blond hair out of his eyes and unzipped his wetsuit,
pulling it off his torso to reveal a chiseled chest and defined
arms. His suit hung limply off his lean hips.
    He headed
straight for me, and I looked around again, thinking his friends
were coming down the dunes, but there was still no one in sight.
    “G’day, I don’t normally see anyone here at
this time. I’m Johnno.” He stood in front of me, hand extended
while the board was tucked under his other arm.
    His arms and
chest were covered with light blond hair
that I hadn’t been able to see before. His light blue gaze held
mine and I almost forgot my manners.
    I stood and shook his hand. “Josh. It’s nice
to meet you,” I replied, stuttering a little.
    Johnno looked me up and down before placing
his board in the sand, sitting on it, and encouraging me to sit
with him.
    “ You surf?”
he asked, watching the waves crash
against the shore. “It’s mad this morning, got wiped out heaps.”
His accent confused me; clearly he was not a local.
    “ No, I don’t.
Looks great , though.” I had no idea what
to say, and I was sure everything I did say was going to be
lame.
    Johnno turned
to me, grinning. “You live here and don’t
surf? What’s up with that?”
    “Ah, no. We just parked here for the night
before heading to California.”
    “ You’re
traveling? That’s so cool. Where ’re you
from?”
    “ Indiana . Been on the road since
early June.”
    “Where’s that?”
    “Indiana? It’s east, borders Illinois.”
    “Any surf out that way?”
    “None.”
    “Bugger.”
    “Where are you from?” I asked him, keen to
keep the conversation going.
    “Straya.”
    “Where?”
    “ Australia,”
he said more slowly. “I’m on a surfing holiday . Needed a break from the job, you know?”
    “ The job?” It
sounded like the mafia, and I instantly wished I hadn’t
asked in case there was an Australian
branch I hadn’t heard of.
    “I’m a sparky by trade, but I’d rather surf,
you know?”
    He wasn’t a redhead and I had no idea what he
was talking about, but my curiosity got the better of me again and
I asked him.
    “ I’m an
electrician. Wiring houses and
stuff.”
    “Oh, I get it.”
    “ You ’ mericans are a weird bunch.” He laughed and shook his
head before nudging my thigh with his.
    He’s the one who
implied he’s a redheaded hitman, and he thinks we’re weird?
    We talked
easily for a while, just watching the
surf. Johnno was big on ocean conservation and he wanted to