by Kate Maxwell

Ben didn’t watch nature documentaries. Except at the dentist, when forced to gape at seahorses and subtitles floating above his head, drill buzzing, and his mouth gurgling like a waterspout. So, he really couldn’t call himself a marine expert. Now, breathing hard, he dropped his hotel towel on the sand and stood facing rolling blue waters. He couldn’t care less what was in that ocean. He just knew it looked good.

There was at least half an hour before he needed to change. A run, a quick dip, and he’d be energized for his morning interview. Even at this hour, he noted a brilliance to the sun, the water and sky in this country. Sally’s parting remark, as she’d placed the engagement ring upon the table so many months ago, echoed in his head: ‘You only hear what you want to hear. Sometimes you don’t see me at all.’ Well, here he was, listening to the call for change and new possibilities all around him. 

When he’d jogged up to dry sand, he hadn’t noticed the old man. 

“Jellyfish out today, mate. Don’t get the Box ones here. Still, ya don’t want to meet any of the buggers, in my opinion.”

Ben turned to the leathery-faced old man, who stood with tatty straw hat askew, gripping either end of his towel around his neck. “Uh, huh,” Ben replied, still a little breathless. “People are swimming, though.” A few walkers and runners sprinkled the shoreline but there were at least four swimmers he could see. And further out, a cluster of wetsuit figures on boards.

“Oh, people are idiots. American, hey?” the old man asked, adjusting his shorts underneath his belly.

“What? Oh, yes,” Ben said.

“Which part?”

“Michigan.” Ben slipped off his joggers, eager to dive into those sapphire waves.

“On holiday? S’pose you don’t get surf like this in Michigan?”

“Well, no, not like this but —”

“Never been, myself. Got everything here, you’d want, ‘cept the jellyfish. You’re welcome to take them back.”

“Ha, not sure I can do that.”

“And the sharks and crocs, You can take them too.” The man laughed.

Ben gave a small smile, stuffed his socks into his shoes, then took his cap off.

“You been there?”

“Michigan? I just said —” and he pressed eyebrows together, a twitch of impatience flickering in his temple.

”YALE! You been to Yale?” the man demanded, pointing at Ben’s cap emblazoned with ‘Yale’ and a bulldog image.

“Oh, right. No, just a Basketball souvenir. Yale bulldogs.” Ben glanced at his watch. “Well, I’m going to jump in before —”

“Basketball team, hey? Over here they’re a footy club. You play basketball?”

Ben sighed. “Just for fun, anyway—”

“Well, mind those jellyfish. You’ll know you’re alive, believe me, if one of those suckers gets you.”

Ben frowned at the old man. “Doesn’t seem to be bothering the other swimmers much and I can’t see any warnings.”

“Local knowledge, mate. You won’t find locals swimming. Probably all tourists, like you. Don’t get me wrong, unlikely to be Box, but even your garden variety jellyfish will wreck ya’ day. Well, if you do get stung, use vinegar, or hot water. It’ll hurt like hell, but you look pretty fit, I doubt you’d have a reaction.” The man rocked back and forth on his bare feet, pushing toes into the sand like feet and sand were old mates. 

Ben considered. The old man probably rambled nonsense to anyone he found loitering on the sand. All Ben knew is that he wanted to dive into that big, fresh ocean.  “Thanks for your advice, but I’m going for a quick swim before my meeting.” And he peeled off his T-shirt.

“Oh, sure. Don’t want you to miss an important meeting. Job interview, hey?”

“Sure. Bye now,” Ben called, as he ran towards the waves, unwilling to spend further minutes of his morning explaining his life to some stranger. Yesterday, that first fresh blast, plunging under a wave, was the perfect jet lag cure. He wanted that feeling again before his interview, and a clear head might make the difference in landing the position. If climbing the corporate ladder meant a sideways leap into a new country, then he was ready. But a conversation with some random old man, obsessed with killer jellyfish, was not providing him with the focus he wanted.

At the first touch of cold, wet sand beneath his feet, Ben knew he was alive. He stepped straight onto a jellyfish.