The heatwave keeps us inside during the day like vampires locked inside their coffins. Then, around 7 p.m., we go to the sea and throw our bodies into the water so we can cool off.
Today the air was very still and the water motionless, flat. And cold. I slowly backstroked along the coast and stared at the clouds that looked like worn out dish clothes cut into strange shapes. Then a Blue Star ferry arrived making the water jump. I’m not into splashes so I went back to the beach and stretched out on my towel. In the direction of Pondrossos was a young man sitting on the beach throwing rocks into the sea. Next to him was a young woman in a white bikini lying belly down. Abruptly the man stopped throwing rocks, stood up, and walked away. The white bikini woman quickly got up to follow walking at least three meters behind him. Is it possible, I asked myself, to run after a man who throws rocks into the sea?
My man, instead, was swimming towards the horizon. The googles he was wearing made him look like a giant insect. Like Greek moms who wave their arms saying “έλα εδώ” (“come here”) to their kids swimming too far out, I signalled for my man to come back. The swimming went well but, to get on the beach, he had to cross the rocky shore. That’s when his Moment of Inertia Dance began.
Inertia is the resistance to change. For example, a body lying down doesn’t want to get up and a body standing up doesn’t want to fall down—especially when walking on rocks. So, to keep his balance, my man tried to extend his arms as if they were a tightrope walker’s pole. There was nothing macho about him now as his arms swayed here and there to keep from falling. So I giggled and laughed and gawked like a goose. He was a good sport and laughed, too. We both like to make fun of ourselves as it keeps us amused.
Some men throw rocks, others walk over them. I prefer the latter.