Rescued

We filtered through the cluttered old city. Eastman and I followed Mickey, keeping track of his red jacket. He guided us through the crowds, avoiding distracting shop keepers. I was at the tail, carrying Eastman’s backpack, full of his bulky travel needs. He hadn't checked into a hotel room yet. To get us moving to the beach quicker I assumed responsibility for the bag, telling him he could find a hotel later. Sometimes, to get moving, you just have to go. I figured they wouldn't make me carry it on the way back. We emerged from the old city and climbed a lazy crest. Below us lay the Atlantic Ocean. The water was churning into different colors, violently stretching and contracting against a perfect sky. It was a brand new day!

I was rousing from hibernation, life pumping through my veins. The clouds and rain of the last few days had made the world so small. I hadn't seen much besides the buildings across the window from my hotel room. The ocean was vast, and nothing was stopping me from attacking it head on. I had had enough of my tiny world and the jetty poking into the Atlantic looked like a refreshing escape.

Although we had the football with us, I figured what we’d do first is walk to the end of the jetty. Mickey refused, saying he didn't want to get wet and wandered onto the dirty sand with the backpack, the football, and his stupid red jacket. Indeed, the bigger waves were crashing over the walls and rocks, slapping the walkway ferociously. A few barriers blocked the entrance of the jetty. We squeezed through them, deciding it was okay to ignore them since several people were strolling or fishing on the jetty. Further out on the jetty there were fewer people, and I wondered if I could find some privacy on the rocks. I had to pee.

Waves heaved back and forth along the walkway. Below their clashes I could hear the ocean growl. It grew deeper and louder as Eastman and I walked further into the Atlantic. He remained half a beat behind me, along for the ride, but not urging me forward. A few waves sprayed us, teasing us to go on. I determined we should reach the end of the jetty and stand on the protective wall to really witness a full demonstration of Poseidon’s power. I quickened our pace, thinking it had been forever since experiencing anything significant. I wanted something to happen.

“Stop me before I do something stupid, Eastman.” We passed a young couple huddling together against the wall. It was like they had come to the end of the world to hide their romance. There was nobody beyond them. Eastman and I became the last people on Earth.

I climbed up on the walls pushing towards the tip of the jetty. If a wave got above the wall I planned to jump off back onto the safety of the walkway. Eastman climbed up behind me. The water churned. Boiling textures slapped the rocks on the other side of our wall. The wind whipped through my thin layers. Our first real wave was rushing towards us. I no longer noticed how pure the color of the sky was. The wave rolled up the rocks and shot over the wall. It loomed over me for a moment. As planned, I dropped off the wall to get back on the walkway. The wall was only five feet tall.

The world shook. Something rattled my vision. Why was I laying in my back? The back of my head hurt pretty bad. I stood up quickly to prove to myself that I wasn't seriously hurt. I cursed loudly in confusion. I almost fell again. The walkway, at the very end of the jetty, was under several inches of water, and coated with a slippery green slime. My heels must have slipped out from under so quick that I couldn't break my fall. I had slammed onto my back and my head. It was an embarrassingly nasty fall. I sloshed through the puddles slowly, trying not to slip on the slime. Eastman casually worked his way back off the wall.

It didn't occur to me for several steps. Then, I understood that this was that kind of pain. It hurt like blood. I touched the back of my head and studied the crimson on my fingers. It was worse than I thought. I explored some more and imagined a red waterfall on my neck. I rationalized that since my hair and clothes were soaked with salty water, there was less blood than it seemed. It just looked gruesome because water spreads blood around like that.

“Are you alright?” Eastman and I met on dry ground. I had never heard that question posed so sincerely.

“Yea, dude. Fuck. God damn it.”

I wanted to avoid the young couple but they were practically right in front of us. My stupidity was shameful and it sucks to be judged. My gaze met theirs, and I could read in their eyes that they were not disgusted by my behavior, but concerned for my well-being. Their worry drew me in and the guy managed to hide the bleeding with his scarf. For a second, I wondered if he would want his scarf back. It was such a soft material. But he spoke first.

“You need to see a doctor.”

“Are you sure? Is there a lot of blood?” I wished so badly that this wasn't real.

“Yea. Find a doctor.”

I needed to explain to him that being wet just makes things look bloodier than they really are, but I didn't. The guy was right. He was clearly in a better position than me to make the judgment: dry clothes, a beautiful girlfriend, and sense enough not to climb onto the exposed walls. He was bright enough to offer a form of help by offering his expensive scarf. His girlfriend probably loved him so much when he did that. I thanked him, and then there was no reason to stay. Eastman and I retraced our steps. Anytime we passed somebody, I kept my head down, and my hand pressed against the scarf over the source of blood. I was ashamed of my belligerence.

Before reaching the barriers that blocked access to the jetty, a cigarette vendor whistled for me and jogged over. He didn't talk, but motioned for me to kneel down. He removed my scarf and applied his own bandage: a thin yellow cloth wrapped tightly around my head. Then he added the scarf over it. I don’t know if he knew what he was doing, and I swear the yellow band looked dirty, but he wanted to help. He even gave me a small pack of napkins for free. I wanted to tip him. I even took out my wallet to get some change, but I only had bills. I decided it was a good thing I didn't pay him. That would've actually been a pretty awful reaction to human generosity.

At the entrance to the jetty other Americans from our organization were collecting, exchanging hugs, ready to spend the day at the beach. The city was abuzz with American chatter, as volunteers from the furthest reaches of Morocco had come to the capital to spend Thanksgiving week. It was an impossible network of relationships and acquaintances. Blood spilling down my neck didn't help my social anxiety. I didn't want to ruin the excitement that comes with reunions.

While Eastman spoke on the phone with Dr. Toufiq, our doctor at headquarters, I tried my best to greet the group appropriately, and describe my situation. I downplayed the severity of my injury, trying my best to keep the mood light, but Em wasn't fooled and assumed control of my rescue.

“We got to get you cleaned up. Come on.” She motioned towards the entrance of what looked like a restaurant. I didn’t think the employees would really just let us barge in.

Em and Eastman pushed me ahead and we were inside, away from the wind, and the sun, and the waves. It was a bar, the rarest of establishments in Morocco. We didn't say anything to the waiters or bartenders. The bar’s layout funneled us into the back corner, where Eastman led me into an immaculate bathroom, the second rarest of establishments. Em followed us in a second later, and my rescue was in full swing.

Eastman washed my head and my neck, blood splashing into both sinks. The toilet flushed and a man stepped out of the stall.

“Oh no, what happened here? Was it the waves?” he forced communication.

“Yea. I was being stupid.” I tried to give him some room at the second sink so he could wash his hands. That’s what you are supposed to do after you take a shit. But he left us alone after dropping a few words of encouragement.

Em shined a flashlight into my eyes and told me my pupils looked good. Again, Eastman called Dr. Toufiq, explaining that there was a lot of blood. He told us to meet him at the hospital. Em wrapped the scarf around my head again. The hospital would fix me.

The scene I was causing had invited everyone to drinks. As we worked our way back out of the bar, my American friends were half way through the first round of drinks, bringing the early afternoon to life. Vince jumped out of his bar stool to offer me his hoodie, then, he ran ahead to wave down a taxi. Several others walked with me across the boardwalk to send me off.

“Get in the car. This guy is going to give you a ride.” There was no taxi, but Vince had found an obliging driver. I apologized for the inconvenience a couple of times, as Caitlin and Eastman got in the car with me. There were too many people involved in my ridiculous rescue. My heart sat heavy in my chest. The adrenaline was wearing off and the back off my head throbbed.

“What happened?” The driver asked.

“I was walking by the beach. I wasn’t thinking. I walked almost to the very end. I should’ve thought more. A wave came and hit me and I jumped and fell. And I hit my head” I said it in an I’m-not-very-fluent-in-Arabic kind of way and the stranger chuckled.

At the hospital, I sat with Caitlin and Eastman in the lobby as Dr. Toufiq discussed the situation with some hospital staff. It seemed like he was convincing them to see me right away, like this situation called for special treatment. What if the girl begging me for change earlier had fallen and cut open her head? Who would sew her head up? I battled a guilty conscious until Dr. Toufiq called me over.

I was led into a sanitary waiting room, while Caitlin and Eastman remained in the lobby. I sat on the bed shivering, holding the scarf around me head wondering if the bleeding had lessened. Dr. Toufiq explained that we had to wait on a specialist to stitch up the back of my head. He examined my wound and then made me follow his finger with my eyes. After taking my blood pressure, he ran out of ways to keep busy and sat in a chair across from me. He was good company. Doctors always have a comforting presence

All my clothes were soaked, but it was mostly the wet socks that kept me shivering. I figured I would worry about warming up later. Stitching my head was a priority over warmth. I still had to pee. I thought I would hold it until my head was fixed, but that didn’t make sense. I asked for the bathroom.

“You can tell my friends that they can go back now.” I told Dr. Toufiq back in my waiting room. “They don’t have to wait for me. They can go back.”

He went back to the lobby to tell them. When he returned Caitlin and Eastman were with him. “Your friends wanted to say good bye.” They demonstrated worry and encouragement. I wanted to tell them thank you or sorry but hugs were all we really needed.

After freezing for a half hour, the specialist arrived. I laid face down in his operating room and he began to explore my gash.

“So you are a Peace Corps volunteer. I want to tell you what I think you guys do and you can tell me if you agree.” He began to shave the back of my head around the cut. It felt like my hair was being ripped out. I bit into my shirt sleeve and let tears of pain dribble onto the bed. “America is a diverse place with a lot of backgrounds. Everyone has their own family history. It creates a sense of global mindedness in the American people. Americans have an urge to explore the world. Even more, you guys want to help the world rise. You want to share the privileges that come with the American standard of living. By volunteering you show that we all deserve small victories. By winning sometimes, we can all be happy.” The razor kept jabbing the gash. I tried to focus on the doctor’s speech. “Have you ever played tennis?” I affirmed with a muffled grunt. “Let’s say I played tennis everyday. And everyday my friend beats me. I lose every single day. What should I do? I can’t get better. Maybe I could stop playing. I could try to cheat. Or maybe I could change the rules. If it meant winning, and I was really sick of losing, I may do something extreme. Ok. Now we will inject the anesthesia. You will feel two pricks, but then the pain will go away. You see here in the Arab world, we have been losing a lot. Violence in the Middle East has been relentless and nothing seems to get solved. Lives are not improving. Even during the Arab Spring, when it seemed like a spirit of revolution could bring people out of oppression, we still lost. Imagine losing like this all the time. Would you find a different way to play? There are a lot of people who do. They figure out ways to cheat or change the rules. Ok. Now let me know if there is too much pain. We are going to begin stitching up your head. So some people decide that they can win by killing others. They figure martyrdom is a shortcut to heaven. They think that they can fly planes into the World Trade Center and go to paradise. They trick themselves. They become so sick of always losing that the only way to ultimately win is to kill or die. You see how dangerous it can be to lose everyday. Now, if we help others, and share the victories I think we can be okay. But there are a lot of people out there always losing, looking for ways to change the rules and cheat. What do you think?”

“If I always lost at tennis, I would just play another sport.” The screaming cut in the back of my head had been silenced.

He smiled, “come forward. The stitches are done. Hang your head off the table so we can wash your head.”

Icy water rushed over me, and my breath caught in my chest. Blood streamed into the bucket below me. The water kept flowing, its color beginning to fade. Then, the water was pure. The wave had passed. I had been rescued.

The specialist shook my hand, wished me well and added, “You look cold. You should change into some dry clothes.”