Under the water, I’m in a forest of brilliant orange fan corals—five to six feet across—and multi-colored soft corals. A bounty of fish.
Yesterday, we swam into the big cavern entrance—only about 20 feet deep. We swam down as it got deeper, narrower, and narrower. Along with the current there was a definite surge. My perfect couple was patient, hung there waiting to be moved forward, kicking only when the tension in the water relaxed. The surge threw Karen. She kicked and kicked against it. Wore herself out.
We spotted a couple giant nurse sharks as soon as we entered the tunnel. Towards the end of the dive, Claude took his divers into a tunnel chamber through a small hole. We swam on. And wham, right smack ahead of us coming the other direction we came face to face with a big grey reef shark swimming down the middle of the tunnel. That even made me take a double breath. Adrenaline surge for sure. We kept low and to the side, and it swam past us—glaring with its strange opaque eyes. Captain Jean told us to be careful of the grays. They are not playful pups like the nurse sharks.
But Shark Cave was nothing compared to Black Rock today. Four dives. Each one full of the big guys. Two bull sharks—kept away from them. All kinds of reef sharks. Zebra morays. A pair of cuttle fish—white, gold, black and brown—tinges of orange in the sunnier shallow water, alien creatures, flailing twisty fins. Swimming all over each other. Mating, I guess. Rays. A couple of eagles right off. A massive manta on the third dive. And then on our last dive of the day, we saw an entire squadron of black and white rays—mottled like a leopard—that I’ve never seen before.
Got to work on my fish ID. Karen’s amazing. She studied up.
“Keeps me sane.” She’s sitting across from me filling out the papers for the Nitrox course I convinced her to take. “I have a boring, boring desk job in a boring, boring office.”
“I thought you’d be a teacher. Or a nurse.”
“A nurse?”
“You look after everyone.”
“Must be the mother in me. I’ve got two daughters—eighteen and twenty. You should meet them.”
“Do they dive?”
“No, this is my gig.”
“They aren’t interested?”
“After my husband died—cancer—”
“I’m sorry.”
She nods, accepting my condolences with ease, practice. “I needed something to keep me breathing. I had the girls but—”
“Saltwater heals.”
“Exactly. You say that like you’ve been there. What’s your story?”
I take the papers, glance over them, sign the bottom. “Did you hear about the Dive Festiva? In Belize? Hurricane Isadore?”
“Of course.”
“That’s me. Story of my life. Dead parents. Dead friends. Freaked out from flashbacks. Diving my brains out to try to wash it all away.”
“Poor, boy.” From Karen, I don’t mind the pity. “You need a nice girl in your life.” She digs in her bag for her wallet.
I frown, and my brows draw together.
“Trouble there?” She rests her eyes on my face. Her cheeks get pinker. “I can’t imagine that.”
I shake my head. If only it was still that easy. “Do you think nineteen is too young to get married?”
She laughs. “I haven’t even shown you their pictures yet.” She reads serious in my eyes, sits back, and folds her arms. “My twenty-year-old daughter is living with her boyfriend. Can’t blame her. I did the same thing. But—as a mother—I wish they’d get married. He’s a nice enough guy, but my maternal instinct is to throttle him and tell him not to touch my daughter again. He could dump her. She could get pregnant. Who knows?”
“Moms.” I chew on my lower lip.
She smiles. “Yeah.”
“Fathers are worse.”
“Her father? The girl you want to marry.”
“Yeah. Scares the hell out of me. He comes off friendly—calm. Actually, kind. Calls me, ‘son’, and all that. But, under the surface, the guy’s a steel trap. Touch my daughter and you die.”
“A bit old-fashioned?”
“Major religious.”
“Well, there are other girls.”
I manage a smile. “Not after this one.”
Karen taps a rhythm on the table with her wallet. “So—she’s pushing marriage?”
“I am.”
“She’s—” Karen’s eyebrows go up.
“Major religious, too. Wants me to join up.”
“Now, that’s unreasonable. You should meet my youngest.” She flips open the wallet and flashes a picture of a pretty blonde girl, good body, showing it off. “Maybe it’s time she learned to scuba dive.”
I laugh—so does she, and we go get dinner.
LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 10/29 11:18 PM
| Kimbo69 says: | | Where’ve you been? You haven’t been online much. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Michael’s out of reach, and I’m so tired. I’ve been catching up on everything—especially sleep. I called you three times, though. You never picked up. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | My cell’s back in my dorm room. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Oh, yuck. You still haven’t been back? How are you dealing? |
| Kimbo69 says: | | You’ll love my new man. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Shower guy? |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Next to him Mark’s a little boy with his itsy, bitsy, dinky, winky… oops, forgot myself…no anatomy jokes with Leesie. |
| Leesie327 says: | | So now you’re putting out for Shower Guy? |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Actually, this guy is good…he puts out for me. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Don’t you get sick of doing it with guys you don’t care about? |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Sick of sex? Are you kidding? Be careful, your virginity is showing…sex is life—it’s how normal people live. |
| Leesie327 says: | | But you’re just using each other. Don’t you think about love? |
| Kimbo69 says: | | I did that with Mark…not making that mistake again. |
| Leesie327 says: | | That’s so sad. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | No it’s not…what’s sad is a frigid know-it-all who won’t look after the guy she says she loves. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Whoa. Where’d that come from? |
| Kimbo69 says: | | You’re such a fool to believe he hasn’t slept with anybody since he fell for you. |
| Leesie327 says: | | That’s none of your business. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | And my life is none of yours. |
| Leesie327 says: | | You really mean that? |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Why shouldn’t I? |
| Leesie327 says: | | I care about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt again. I don’t want something nasty to happen to you. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Nasty? Don’t be stupid…I’m bouncing back…you should read all the great poems I’ve milked out of this. Well, maybe you shouldn’t…definitely erotica. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Good therapy? |
| Kimbo69 says: | | I thought you weren’t into psych any more…don’t try to analyze me. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Ouch. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Toughen up, chick…you won’t be able to stay in that lollipop paradise of yours forever. |
| Leesie327 says: | | You seeing into my future? |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Not hard to do. The whole Michael thing is an easy call…you’re going to have to get down to my level or give him up. |
| Leesie327 says: | | That’s not what I see. He wants to marry me. If he loves me enough, he’ll take becoming a Mormon seriously. And then the Lord will do the rest. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Hah! Dream on…the guy is what he is… people can’t up and change just to fit some fantasy you had in high school. |
| Leesie327 says: | | We’ll see. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Are you taking bets? |
| Leesie327 says: | | I would never bet on something so important. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Nope…you would never bet on something so shaky. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Your opinion. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | You asked for it. |
| Leesie327 says: | | No. I don’t think I did. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Reality sucks but you need to face it. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Life doesn’t have to be like that. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Talk to me again when you’re ready to join MY club…down here on earth… where we know what’s important and get it. |
| Leesie327 says: | | I could never live like you do. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Are you calling me a slut? A whore? |
| Leesie327 says: | | No. You called yourself that. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | But that’s what you think…that’s what you’ve always thought. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Well, that’s how you act. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | And you are a frigid prude…I’d rather be a whore. Don’t call me anymore…you wouldn’t want to sully those icy white fingers. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Kim sign back on. Did you block me? I’m sorry. I think of you first as a friend. Kim? |
OFF TRACK
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10
D
IVE
B
UDDY
: Karen
D
ATE
: 10/30
D
IVE
#: 1,257
L
OCATION
: Burma Banks
D
IVE
S
ITE
: Silvertip Bank
W
EATHER
C
ONDITION
: overcast
W
ATER
C
ONDITION
: 4’ swells, current
D
EPTH
: 152’
V
ISIBILITY
: 60’
W
ATER
T
EMP
.: 74 F
B
OTTOM
T
IME
: 32 min.
C
OMMENTS
:
Freak. Burma banks today. Long ways out from the other islands. These mountains don’t quite break the surface. Wild, open water diving conditions. Strongest current yet. This place is legendary.
We make a quick descent in a tight pack. The Zodiac follows us close. I issued emergency whistles and bright orange safety sausages to everyone. The first dive goes off okay. Kind of barren. Not teeming like the other sites. This used to be the place for close shark encounters. We see one lonely nurse shark. And lots of white blasting scars on the reef. Dynamite fishing. Way to go, Myanmar. No freaking protection here.
We’re all subdued on the surface. Shocked. The second dive is a bit better. Nice wall. The sea floor is a thousand feet down. Not the viz you get in Cayman, but the coral here is better—at least where it’s not blown up.
Karen has her camera along, gets behind taking a photo of a blasted spot. Evidence. Good for her. She’d be a good crusader.
I notice she sank a bit deep while taking the photo. Easy to do. I’m at 95 feet. She must be around 110. I clank a metal clip on my tank to get her attention, move my hand in an upward motion to signal her to watch her depth. It’s time we all coast up to around 70 feet anyway.
Karen pumps the button on the hose hanging from her B.C. to fill it with more air and give her more buoyancy—kicks to swim up to my level. A rapid stream of bubbles comes out of her scuba vest. Freak. The bladder inside must have burst. She starts sinking.
I’m down to her in a shot, but we’re already at 130.
She freezes, clings to me. I pump up my vest to max its lift and kick hard while I pull the weights out of one of her B.C. pockets and dump them. Karen snaps out of it and starts kicking, too. She’s on the verge of panic—breathing heavy—sucking through way too much air. At this depth, she’ll be sharing my tank soon. I’ve got plenty, but we’ll need to do extra deco time to make up for going this deep. I think we can make it to the emergency air dangling at the end of a hose off the back of the Zodiac.