The first morning that I attended the Gathering at Tower 7, I had no idea what to expect.  Some of the participants had asked me to join them so I did, although still unsure what our connection might be.  As soon as they’d gone around the circle, introducing themselves and identifying as ghosts, I understood right away.  Things had not been the same since the seizure three weeks earlier. 

Still, the more I sat and listened to the other ghosts share, the more I realized that my condition preempted the recent medical emergency, that in fact it was possibly the result of a trauma that had occurred years earlier.  Some of the ghosts had died physical deaths, while others, due to an extreme aversion to pain, had been too stunted, emotionally, or mentally, to ever lay claim to the lives they might have led, and had retreated to the shadows.

It made me think back to that night beneath the bridge at Moon Park, not long after my family had moved to Southern California, one of the many moves we’d made as a codependent clan of perpetual outsiders.  There was a dance at El Rancho High that night and everyone else was going, but I’d managed to score a twelve-pack of Mickey’s Big Mouths, and was slamming the empty bottles on the concrete riverbed beneath the freeway, shaking my fist at a blood-red moon, like a new super-villain taking an oath against all mankind.

At the beginning of the pandemic, when everyone had been locked down and the beaches were empty, all you saw were ghosts, like wild animals, cautiously reestablishing their boundaries once the cities emptied out.  I may have met three hundred ghosts that first year and felt a sense of unity I’d never experienced anywhere.  At the Gathering, most of the ghosts are trying to get back their humanity, believing that it is only humans that are capable of salvation.  I’d started out the same way, working through the steps and following the principles that they advocated.  For a while it felt like I was making real progress. 

Lately the distance has begun to set back in, however, and some days I’m no longer sure that I even want to be saved. 

Pulling up in front of Tower 7, I saw Rudy standing in the parking lot, his right leg shorn off at the knee.  Depending on where you meet him, he’ll tell you a different story about losing his leg.  He’d told me it was a shark attack, but I’ve also heard it may have been a motorcycle accident, sniper attack, or pro football injury that was to blame. 

Rudy said he’d seen Jason and Buddy paddling out at Tower 5 earlier, but that no longer hurt my feelings.  Our surf crew, the Gallows, because someone was always dropping in on someone else, had only hung together at Tower 7 for a few short glorious months.  Over time, Jason and Buddy had become more selective, going wherever the waves were best.  Doc and Oscar had migrated back inland.  Ezra was off in his van somewhere.  Sometimes I’d see the other guys around, here and there.

With my unreliable string of bikes, I’d never been as mobile as the rest of them, and stayed loyal to Tower 7 for a long time, bringing my board to every Gathering.  Eventually, when no one was showing up anymore, I began heading up to the Cliffs by myself.  There I stood less of a chance of being pitched over the falls every time I tried to get to my feet.

The meeting was about to wrap, so I perched on a wall and listened to the last ghosts tell their tales.  It was a much smaller crowd than it had been a few years ago.  A lot of ghosts had gotten antsy when the lockdown orders ended and the summer crowds began returning to the beach.  What remained was largely a skeleton crew of regulars. 

Roy and Betsy came over and sat down next to me once everyone began to disperse.  They asked about the ukulele, so I showed it off, recounting how I’d recently been to Hawaii, loading it up with mana energy on Oahu and the Big Island.  Then it had been up the entire Pacific Coast of Mexico, wading out knee deep in the surf, keeping time with the waves.  All that to prepare for my debut performance at the US Open.

Really?

Yes, it was true.  I’d be kicking off the proceedings every morning on the pier.