Baewatch - Xavier Neal Page 0,57

of people – mainly tourists – imagine my shift outside the office, on actual beach duty, is like the shit they see on T.V. or in the movies. That I either lounge around working on crisping up my complexion or that I’m jogging in slow motion towards drama-worthy issues, like drug drop offs and close-call kidnappings and taking down strapped beach pirates who are pillaging the shores for the best crabs.

Okay, maybe not the last one.

Maybe I was the one being over the top that time.

Point is, there are many people who picture my job to be something that it isn’t.

Rarely does something deemed “exciting” happen.

“Ohmygod that’s my son!” A shrill voice screams. “Help! Please help!”

However, it does occur every once in a while.

But I never run in slow motion.

That’s not a real thing.

And my tits don’t necessarily look like that when I’m sprinting as fast I can towards the situation before diving in.

Thankfully, the water isn’t unruly today. Cutting through the current to get to the child that’s bobbing and flailing would actually be considered easy if it wasn’t for the increasing crowd of people ignoring the orders to get out of the way and to stop “helping” because they’re actually just making the situation worse. Unfortunately, his desperation to cling on to something…anything…is putting them at risk for being pulled under as well. I understand wanting and needing to save someone, especially a child, but more often than not, that’s what unfolds. It takes some skillful maneuvering and getting a good blow to the ribs from the kid’s foot to secure him on my red torp. He cries out for his mom prompting me to comfort him, yet I can’t. I have to focus all my energy on getting us both safely back to shore. His wailing seems to be more than just that of emotional pain, a fact that’s easy to prove mere seconds after we reach the sand.

“Ohmygod!” the woman continues shrieking. “What is that!? Get it off him! Get it off him!”

“Ma’am,” I calmly state as Skye, one of the On-Site paramedics drops to her knees to tend to the boys’ wounds, “I’m going to need you take a deep breath and lower your voice.”

“Lower my voice!?” Her squawking increases. “How dare you! How dare you tell me to-”

Her son’s howls of pain pierce our ears once more interrupting the outburst.

My head gently motions his direction to imply for his sake she needs to take it down a notch and the message is almost instantly received. She shoots me an apologetic expression, lowers herself to the ground, and grabs his hand.

The little boy, who can’t be more than seven, stares up at her waiting for verbal love or reassurance that everything’s okay yet receives neither.

“Medication allergies?” Skye’s voice asks before proceeding with on the spot treatment.

“No,” the woman quietly replies.

Skye nods her understanding while I cheerfully state, “That’s good! It means we should be able to help stop the pain.”

His watery eyes widen in hope.

“Looks like you got stung by a jellyfish,” I announce the obvious to keep his attention on me rather than the pain or the process Skye is skillfully working through. “Unfortunately, they do that.”

His bottom lip quivers.

“They don’t usually mean to be so mean. They’re just trying to protect themselves from things that wanna eat them.”

“I don’t wanna eat it!”

“I know that, but sadly, they don’t know that.”

“They should go to school.”

“Maybe they should.” A tiny smile threatens my lips. “But you know what?”

His eyebrows lift.

“I’ve got the best news! We humans have things to heal those very specific types of ouchies.”

Hope returns to his gaze, which encourages his mother to enthusiastically nod. “We do! And, and that’s what the other nice lady is doing, Noah. She’s helping heal those ouchies.”

The fight with his tears finally starts to slow down.

In between Skye removing the last of the tentacles stuck to his skin, I casually investigate the situation he found himself in. I do my best not to reprimand his mother for allowing her young child to swim so far out unescorted while simultaneously providing reassurance that her child probably isn’t dying from the sting. One of the volunteer guards joins us to disperse the onlookers, and it’s hard to pretend I don’t notice the flirty smiles he keeps shooting my way.

Ugh.

I don’t date guys from work.

Always been a rule.

Unlike my grandmother, who’s always insisted you should sample the dishes you’re serving, I’ve never believed it was a good idea. Aside from