The Moment That Matters

You know what kills romance? Stepping on a giant sea urchin while trying to look cute for a boy.

In all honesty, the odds were against me well before I ended up with a foot masking as a porcupine. After all, I was barely easing into adolescence and my crush was easily 16 or 17 years old — a light years’ age gap back then.

Still, you can’t fault me for trying.

Tan and muscular, the object of my affection (whom I had named Tom) stood confidently atop the windsurf he was manning that sweltering summer day, staring straight at the horizon almost as if taunting its distance. I had been snorkeling along the shore hunting for seashells, keenly aware to stay away from the nearby coral reef dotted with hundreds of sea urchins. I’d grown up coming to this laid-back Israeli beach town on the northern tip of the Red Sea, so I knew the drill: always be wary of sea urchins because they are everywhere.

Those struck by Cupid know well how love has a way of dislodging reason, even if, or especially when, the result may bring you harm. Which explains what happened, when, while coming up for air, I first spotted him.

You’ll recall he was headed toward the now setting sun, which, had I used any common sense, would have signaled there was no way he’d catch of glimpse of me. But that didn’t stop me from running my hands through my tangled, wet hair, straightening my gawky body and attempting to strut (with equal confidence, of course) in the water toward him.

It took a lot of effort to look cool at the age of 12, but by golly, I did not shy away from the challenge and tried, keeping my eyes laser focused on Tom.

I want to think I looked amazing taking those first few steps. Perhaps, something would have made Tom turn around and he would have noticed me.

Sadly, on step number four, the entire beach, heck, the entire town of Eilat, noticed me.

The first seconds of that fateful stride felt oddly comforting, like stepping on a plush carpet. Until the pain set in and I looked down to see more spines than I could count dangling off the tender arch of my foot.

My scream was piercing.

Everyone stopped to stare.

To my mortification, Tom turned around — whilst gliding through the waves so suavely, not skipping a beat.

The lifeguard dashed toward me and scooped me up. By now, my entire foot pulsed with pain and tears burned my eyes.

“This is not how it was supposed to happen,” I thought to myself, horrified.

As I sat on the beach surrounded by my family, people slowly resumed their activities and Tom, whom I’d lost sight of, no doubt was well into his wind sail journey by now.

My father carefully began to remove the toxic spines as I calculated how I’d enjoy the rest of my stay unable to walk. Suddenly, I heard an unfamiliar low voice make its way through my inner circle of relatives.

“You okay, kid? Man, that looks rough.”

It was Tom, somehow miraculously standing next to me, a worried look battling his adorable face.

Pain was instantly swamped with elation, and now, although I was struck down by a sea urchin, resilience and drive kicked into high gear and I straightened myself up.

“Not too bad,” I answered nonchalantly, as if I was talking about a less-than-favorable flavor of bubblegum.

“Jeez, seriously? You sure are tough,” he added, throwing in a bonus smile that made my heart skip a beat.

And with that, he turned and began walking toward the setting sun, instantly transforming an afternoon riddled with agony into a moment gilded in triumph.

Happy Reading,

Alona Abbady Martinez

alona@bocaratonobserver.com