And that's for all the things I can't control.

When we went back out into the waves, they were crashing harder, as if there was something bothering them. They were the kind of waves that don't mind if you smack them right back. The punching commenced: the first few punches just because it felt good to throw all my strength into one thing, and then a punch with the shout, "And that's for making me leave Spain!" That brought up anger further down: "And that's for making me leave Mount Rainier!" Then a punch for not knowing Spanish yet. Then more personal punches: "And that's for making me leave…" There were tens of names I wanted to enter, and as the waves kept coming no matter how hard I hit them, I kept naming friends. I hurled at least five punches for having to leave Rachel, then dove beneath the waves, hoping the Atlantic ocean would make up for the tears I can't seem to cry.