My alarm clock blared at 5:45 a.m. Surfers get up at ungodly hours, when it's still dark outside, so that we can go surfing before the wind picks up and while the conditions are good. Also, I suppose, to make sure that you can get to work on time.

I got out of bed, groggy from minimal sleep, slipped on a t-shirt, hoodie and pants, and got ready to leave. On my way out the front door, I grabbed my surfboard, which was propped up right as you walked in.

Before I closed the front door, I reached over and turned the lights on and off three times.

I had to.

Then I left and latched the door shut.

Today, as usual in this stretch of the coast, the early morning beach felt foggy and cold. Blurry weather. The kind of day that hasn't quite made up its mind. Wearing my wetsuit and booties, I walked gingerly on the rocks, holding my surfboard under my arm.

The waves slapped against the shore, then fizzled, and then drew back. Repeatedly. This time, one lone gull flew overhead as the dawn came out. Dark figures lurked in the water: surfers already out.

I scanned the figures, looking for Marsha. I didn't totally believe that she surfed. I'd never seen her out here and I knew almost everyone from daily surfing. There were other breaks, sure, but this was the best one. Why go anywhere else?

I didn't see her and I decided to head further up the beach to look for her. I walked on the sand, scrambled over a breakwater wall and went up to the next surf break.

Standing at the edge of the surf, looking out, I saw her.

Girls were easy to spot in a wetsuit.

Marsha, a tiny figure, splashed in the shallows, running with a little surfboard under her arm. She jumped on top of the surfboard, toes out of the water, and paddled.

My surfboard under my arm, I ran in after her, slapped it down in the water, got in, and paddled as rapidly as I could. Gaining on her, I yelled, "Hey!"

She turned around unsurprised. "Oh, you made it."

Other surfers sat on their boards in the grainy bluish water, the quiet of the morning and the roar of the waves coexisting. The fog pressed in on us and made it like everything was covered in cotton wool, subdued.

Paddling over to her, I saw that a set of waves was out a ways and headed in. She was out further, and sat on her board, legs in the water on either side. When I got to her, she smiled, chin up, and looked confident.

No makeup.

Her features, which had been cartoonish yesterday, today looked delicate and pretty. Fresh-faced, her short hair slicked back, she looked like a dark haired surfer girl.  No anime about her today.

We bobbed on the water, waiting, and then the set started to roll in. She looked at me, impishly, and said, "Time to paddle paddle paddle!" Her belly to the board, toes up, she paddled fast, and in an instant, caught the wave.

And stood up.

In her glory.

The weight of the ocean and of gravity pushed her toward the shore, all of heaven behind her and the wind coursing through her hair, the salt licking her eyes.

Then it was time to turn out and she did, hopping back on her board and straddling it. She took a break for a moment, then got on her belly again, paddling toward me.

And the waves broke and we rode them. 

And the waves crashed and we rode them. 

Always pushing toward the shore.

Surfing with her, well, she was awesome. Her lithe, little body meant that she just popped right up on her board, and she caught waves easily. I found that we communicated easily too, distinguishing whose turn it was to catch a wave. Because of the ocean, we didn't talk that much and concentrated on the sets. But I felt a sense of freedom surfing with her.

When we got back to the shore, the sun had burned off the gray fog and now winked at us. I toweled off and changed, doing my usual wrap-a-towel-around-my-waist trick. She took off her wetsuit showing off an adorable pink bikini underneath, her tiny body barely filling it out.

God she was cute.

She looked a little forlorn.

"I forgot," I said. " I meant to ask you something."

She put on a striped hoodie and black pants. "Yes, I called you last night." Her clean face looked simultaneously tired and exhilarated. Like she had a good workout and was spent, but also relaxed.

"No you didn't. It was a dream. There was no call. And how did you get my phone number?"

"Google."

"But—"

"Look," she said, and then she looked around as she had just commanded. "It's not safe for me to talk out here. It's really only safe in the water. I need to go to a crowded place where they can't hear. Where they won't see me."

Huh? "Okay, sure."

She grabbed the hem of my hoodie, pulling me to her. "Tad, I'm not sure you want to know."

And she was a mess, yes. But a delicate, beautiful mess. "Let's get some breakfast."

"I feel like something warm," she replied.

We went to the same coffee shop and sat at the same rickety table. After about a half a pot of weak diner coffee, she had perked up considerably.

The same waitress delivered our food before I could finish organizing the jam packets. It got there so fast, the butter wasn't melted yet into the toast. I stacked up the jam packets and took one—the correct one—and opened it to use.

"So what am I supposed to be saving you from?" I asked, feeling slightly sarcastic and slightly sincere, as I spread the strawberry goo on my bread.

"Bad people."

I raised an eyebrow. "Bad. People," I repeated. "Can you be more specific?"

"No." She looked close to tears. "All I want to do is read my books and surf. I want them to leave me alone."

Okay, now. I know that I have obsessive compulsive disorder, which makes me order my world. So I'm not one to talk. And I know I'm not supposed to use the c-word. But man, she's crazy. WTF kind of bad people are after a little girl like her? I mean, she's a full grown woman even though she looks like a girl. Man, I don't know. She confused me.

Fresh faced still from surfing, her hair half-dried, she leaned over and put her hand on mine. "Just be my friend, Tad. That's how you can help." With a request like that, how do you say no?

"Yeah."

She started trembling some more. Shit, she misunderstood. I continued, "No, I mean yeah, we're friends. Easy. Just like when you're a little kid and you decide to be friends."

She nodded and awarded me with a small smile.

We sat there in silence, me eating toast, her drinking coffee and eating eggs.

"Are you going to go surfing tomorrow?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"I'll see you then," I replied. "I have to get ready for work, we open at ten."

We split the tab and as we left, she walked close to me, pressed in by the crowd waiting in the lobby.

"It's funny how a dumpy place like this is so popular," she said. Then she paused. "I didn't mean that. It's good. But it's funny how people group together. We're sociable creatures." She trailed off. Then she looked at me and got up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. "I'm glad we're friends, Tad. I'll come see you soon. Or see you out surfing."

I smiled and said goodbye. When I left, I waved at her and as I headed back to my apartment, I looked over my shoulder. She headed for the bus stop bench again.

A few hours later, showered and clean, I was at work, ringing up a customer, when I looked up through the poster-covered windows of the store. A scraggly tree stood right outside, embalmed by the concrete.

As the customer opened the door to leave, Marsha ran in, a gust of wind on her tail.

I hadn't expected to see her so soon. Nice surprise. But then I got a good look at her.

She was back in her cartoon makeup with a stricken look on her face.

"Tad, I need to talk to you."

I looked around. No one else was in the store except Susan, who was on the other side of the store. "Sure," I said, confused and intrigued.

"Can I come live with you?"