The Making of JAWS (a short story)
Born and raised on the island of Maui, 15-year-old Mele’s lifelong dream is to surf every major big wave break around the world. But when an opportunity arises that will give her everything she wants, she'll have to face off with more than just monster waves.
It had always been a dream of mine to live on a beautiful island surrounded by crystal clear turquoise ocean. And from 2018 - 2021, I lived that dream. Every day on Maui, I got to feel the warm sun on my skin, the sticky sand on my feet, and the salty air on my tongue. I learned to spearfish and occasionally brought home dinner. I learned to forage and harvested bananas, coconuts, and lilikois from my backyard. But while it would seem three years was ample time to learn to surf, I only went out a few times. Crazy, I know!
But I did write a short story about surfing while I was there. The purely fictional story JAWS takes place at the very real surf spot named Jaws. My protagonist is a fifteen-year-old big wave surfer named Mele, whose name was inspired by the amazing volunteer I met the day we adopted our pup from the Hawaii Animal Rescue Foundation (HARF).
The world-famous surf break in Pe’ahi is located on the North Shore of Maui, just a few short miles from where I lived in Haiku. Whenever the break is goin’ off, parked cars line the Hana Highway in Pe’ahi. And that’s where once a year the Jaws Big Wave Surf Championships take place.
I was beyond excited that a few days before I turned in the final draft of JAWS to my editors, the competition was greenlit and I got to experience a version of my story as a spectator.
A big part of watching the competition is the treacherous trek down the long, muddy, pot-hole-ridden, 4-wheel-drive only road. Most people, including me, walk the 45 minutes in slippas (flip flops) enjoying the buzzing energy on the way to the waves.
When I finally arrived hundreds of people stood shoulder to shoulder on a cliffside that overlooks the monster waves. To get a better look at the surfers, I followed the brave few who traversed a very narrow hillside trail and clung to an old salt-crusted rope while rappelling down a steep rock-faced wall. (This may be slightly exaggerated for effect). But once I got to the bottom of the hill, I found myself eye-level with the waves. I sank into the soft dirt and pulled out the binoculars I borrowed from my neighbor, Carl.
I stayed for quite a while as onlookers cycled in and out. The competition was everything I had imagined from the small boats bobbing on rolling waves, camera-mounted helicopters filming overhead, and legendary surfers cautiously choosing their waves before fully committing to their ride.
Hours later, I walked back down the muddy road and I found myself grinning from ear to ear that I had lived a piece of my story.
And you can, too.
