“Head back, belly up, sway your arms to and fro.” Clinging to the instructions he remembered hearing as a child, he lays back, floating above the Sigsbee Deep in the western end of the Gulf of Mexico.
Starting in Cancun, he rented a kayak from a small beachfront surf shop and paddled until when looking back, he couldn't see the shore. Clad in his newly purchased wetsuit and full face mask, he continued rowing into the vast nothingness ahead. After tying a small waterproof compass around his neck, he followed what he imagined a northwest heading would be. Uncertainty filled his heart and mind more than excitement now. Battling the doubt, knowing he could blink and find himself home, he breathed through the mounting nerves.
OK. Don't be afraid. People free dive all the time. Just take that breath up top. You're gonna be fine. Everything is going to be all right. I should have told my parents I loved them more. I mean, if you fuck up, they're never going to know where you died, how you got here, what the hell you were even doing here. Then again, there's no way they would have believed you. Maybe if you told them or showed them when you saw them last, you coward. Geez... I'm being kind of rude right now. Settle down, self.
Laughing off the absurdity of it all, he grabs everything he wants to be above him as he dives and poofs ahead in the distance at the same northwest heading he had been following.
In awe of the never ending expanse above, around and below, he pauses to take it all in. Plopping into the water, he lets go of the kayak and he doggy paddles himself a few feet away before stopping to float. Head back, belly up. Closing his eyes to bask in the warmth of the sun, he resigns himself to a depth below sight. Taking in a deep breath, he dives down to practice equalizing. It is as he remembered and musters up the courage to push forward before coming back up.
The emptiness haunts him. Slowly kicking his feet at a metered pace, he finds the light less and less abundant. No fish are swimming here. He decides to proceed further down. The air in his body is circulating at an increasingly rapid pace. Desperate to remain calm, he lets out a small puff of air and watches the tiny bubbles escape upward.
The pounding in his chest, increasing in severity, beckons him up. Righting himself in the water with his head toward the sky, he pauses for a brief moment, taking in the expanse and its daunting endlessness. Unable to see anything for miles fills him with a sense of calm he has never experienced. It all seems to fall away. The anxiety of his task, his fear of drowning, the disappointment of choosing such a deep well as his first dive with nothing as of yet to see, all of it away. Rolling his head back, he kicks upward to breach, climb aboard his kayak and move along to the next place.
Struggling to recall any ocean side places his family visited as a child, he contemplates ending his adventures after only a few minutes. As quickly as he can be anywhere he wants, he is flooded with images of Miami Beach. Hastily wrapping his arms around all of his belongings, he disappears from the Deep and finds himself off shore near the South Pointe Pier.
As it was before, he paddles forward until the shore is a distant memory. The water is different here. The warmth of the water as it splashes his face is a stark contrast to the frigid waters in the Deep he just escaped. Eager to explore, he secures his paddles, consults his compass, fastens his mask and breathes his last before descending into the unknown beneath him.
Less unsure of his decision making, he confidently kicks downward. The depths are much closer here as he can see the bottom of where he intends to explore. Testing the limits of his ability to hold his breath he is taken back to that afternoon in his kitchen. Laughing off the lunacy of his attempt, not unlike this exact one, he pushes further toward the ocean floor.
The tight black flippers sway back and forth as he propels himself downward. Hands at his side, trying to conserve energy, he carefully takes stock of the toll it is taking on him to explore. Ready for a breath, he decides to quickly ascend and poofs himself to the water's edge. Expelling the air in his lungs, he draws in as deep a breath as he is able, straightens his body into a pencil sinking down several feet, rotates his face toward the floor and poofs back down.
That was easier than I thought it was gonna be. Do I instinctively hold my breath when I do this teleporting thing? Huh. That's interesting. Alright Diego, what do you see?
He patiently scans the area. There is sea life here. Schools of fish scurry about as he slowly descends deeper. The rock formations tantalizingly call to him as they are reaching upward and downward simultaneously. The colors of the floor dissipate and everything his eyes can see seem to become more and more gray. Looking up, he poofs back up for a breath, and begins treading water for a brief moment so as not to sink back down, then poofs back to the depths. Turning on his flashlight, he begins exploring the floor in earnest.
Unprepared for the amount of garbage resting on the ocean floor, the staggering quantity of refuse startles Diego. Plastic bottle caps, goggles, entangled fishing wire. There are even several pieces of luggage. Swimming over, he peruses a few of them and finds little of import sifting through handbags full of, likely now canceled, credit cards, library cards, compacts, other uninteresting knickknacks. Returning to the surface for a breath and then immediately back down periodically, he searches the area and finds a substantial pile of luggage, likely discarded from cruise ships in passing by thieves or dropped overboard by careless passengers trying to be king or queen of the world.
Approximately 30 minutes in, he comes upon a brown water logged leather bag. The plastic clips are intact and remain fastened. He slips the shoulder strap over his head and continues looking. Retrieving a few more still fastened bags, he heads back up to the surface. Scanning the area for his kayak, he notices it floating nearby and makes his way over.
Aboard the tiny kayak, he opens the bags. Astounded by the disparity of perception, he admires the beautiful colors these bags embody. What was brown is a bright red. What was gray is a vibrant emerald green. Unfastening a clip and opening a bag, he finds pens, an early 2000s hand held tablet device, a leather bound notebook with water soaked pages. The next few are similarly filled with what was once paper notebooks, pens, pencils, an empty wallet, a silver money clip, smaller hand bags that are themselves empty. There are several electronics including a small hand held game system. Ooh, sweet! I had one of these as a kid. Super cool.
Discouraged by his findings, he moves onto the bright red leather bag, heavy with water soaked leather and full of belongings. Sifting through the slimy mess he uncovers a vacuum sealed freezer bag. The contents therein seem to be dry. With a tug he is able to pull the zipper seal apart. A latent scent of perfume and soap waft free from the bag. In it he finds a clip holding several crisp one hundred dollar bills, two thousand dollars in total. There are three expired passports belonging to the same family. There is an itinerary and even hand written notes in a language he cannot understand. The passports are from Norway and are pristine. They have one stamp. Likely lost at the beginning of a holiday for the small family, they expired 10 years ago. Resolved to take them home and find a way to get them back to their owners he tucks them back in the plastic bag, reseals it and stuffs his treasures in the red leather bag, fastens the clips and tosses the strap over his shoulder.
Not wanting to dump things back in the ocean, he grabs a hold all the items now on his tiny kayak and heads back to the waters off the coast of Cancun. Paddling back to shore, he dismounts from the kayak and tugs it onto the sand. Dumping the excess bags and refuse from the sandy floor in the Atlantic Ocean into a large metal bin, he lugs the kayak back to small surf shop.
Gracias! Que tenga un buen dia!
“Igual” shouts the young boy of 15. His sun kissed cheeks rosy and welcoming. His smile large and toothy. He is wearing an old band t-shirt, shorts and black and blue flip flops all doused with sand and water from the day's work.
Stepping out of the store and into his bedroom with a blink, he drips water on the kitchen floor outside his door.
Jamish shouts from the bathroom, “Diego? Are you home? Fucker, I was calling for you earlier, why didn't you respond?”
Oh, my bad. I guess I didn't hear you.
“Well, I already ordered food, so you can go fuck yourself.”
Oh boy, can I? Wait, wont I go blind though?
“I don't know, I mean I can still see. Maybe I'm just special.”
Special. The innocuous word echoed in Diego's mind filling his head with excitement and loneliness. Unready to share his secret with Jamish, he shrugs off what's rising inside him, Or, maybe you're doing it wrong.
“I dunno, I have like what, 15 years of experience. Surely at this point I've got it down to a science.”
10? You were 10?
“Yeah, how old were you?”
I dunno, like 13, maybe? Yeah, 13 I guess. I was in eighth grade.
“Oh man. Late bloomer, huh? Well, in that case, that makes me the senior expert of the two. I can safely say that it wont make you go blind.”
Good to know. I'mma play some games or something, catch you.
“Wait, you just get up and now you're heading back to your room?”
Yeah. Why, you want me to sit out here and watch you eat?
“Maybe”
Yeah well, you can go fuck yourself.
“Too late. Ha!”
Thanks for that...
“You're welcome.”