Five Years

I’m sure Freeport in the Bahamas is very nice, but to me it’s a place that isn’t Mexico. I don’t understand the hold that Mexico and it’s gulf have on me and I don’t need to know. I know that I feel at home there and peaceful and happy, and while I speak so little spanish as to be considered to not speak spanish, the sound of it rolls through me, calms my whole self down and lingers in my brain, sing-song, like a salve.

I don’t know the number, haven’t a clue, but I’d guess that if ten people try diving, five never do it again, 4 become recreational, go a few times in their lives, once per vacation divers, and the last one, is done for. The dive masters are usually from all over the world and they have similar stories. Went somewhere in their early twenties, did a dive, went home, sold their possessions and began lives of itinerate dive instructors. Often, they don’t stay anywhere longer than a year or two. I don’t know what happens to them eventually, do they open their own shop somewhere? Stay in whatever country is home to the girl or guy they settle with? Give it up after a decade, or become wise old men and women of the sea, having seen the world and picked up more languages than I will ever speak?

If I learned to dive at twenty, would I have become one of them? Probably not, I still had too much stuff to work out, can’t say I’ve exorcised it all, but piece, by piece. I am, however, the one out of ten, because in the first minute of my first dive I was overtaken by a pure, simple joy I’d not before experienced. I remember that dive as being in crystal clear, sparkling water that let me see unclouded, unobstructed, to infinity. I’ve never encountered those conditions again, so maybe my memory is embellished by how I felt. In that one thirty-minute increment, I went from battered and bruised to happy goddess/sea witch if only in my own mind. So I get those folks who go home and sell all their belongings, but that’s something I no longer crave, as I did growing up because I finally love my home and the boys that grew up there, and it’s their home too.

The folks on the boats thus far haven’t been the friendliest, they’re like New Englander’s, insular. There was a guy from England, living in Singapore in Freeport for business, extending his stay a few days to dive and we had the same modus operandi. First ones in, last ones out, so we became dive buddies by default. He was very sweet underwater, kept checking on me asking for the “OK” signal and I could sense he could navigate, We were absolutely, perfectly on the same page, luckily the divemasters were chill, and confident in our abilities because we took off both times. We were both good divers, explored a wreck and wandered off. I saw the first shark and didn’t want to turn around and alert him, so i kept my eyes on the shark and did jumping jacks in midair, midwater, diving is like flying, he saw me, and thanked me later. And then another shark, it was lovely.

The currents on the surface were mild today, yesterday they were ferocious and I swam as hard as I could in place for 5 minutes trying to get to the tow line and, well, at least I didn’t get further away. The guys on the boat threw out a longer line because no one was getting any closer. Climbing up the ladder was insane and we all got thrown off a few times. My legs are all bruised today from getting thrown into the ladder and boat and I slept well last night. I always come back from my trips bruised and scraped and it makes me feel alive and proud. In my normal life, a paper cut makes me complain daily, it’s all about state of mind, I suppose.

Englishman was lone and standoffish on the boat, but next dive, we were first ones in and took off looking for sharks and it didn’t take long. This was one of the most enjoyable dives of my life. I kneeled in the sand, and watched shark after shark after shark swim by. The visibility was low, water murky, so I’d dangle and look into the abyss and one would appear and I’d hope, hope, hope it would come my way and often they did, several times I could have reached out and petted them. Each sighting sent a rush of calm and contentment over me because I was seeing what I wanted to see and doing what I wanted to do. English was great, he was just as into it, but also 25 feet away, neither of us getting in the other’s way. First in, last out and with a half tank of air to spare.

Yesterday I found a quiet greek restaurant that had reasonable prices. I’ve been eating a lot of the free apples from the lobby because food is really expensive here which I suppose puts the overhead bin filled with chips into context. Every dive boat I’ve ever been on passes around fresh fruit and cookies between dives because you need the calories, but not here which left me with skull splitting headache the first day. Everyone brings their own food and water bottles on the boat, and they don’t share, so I found a tiny convenience store and stocked up on tiny bags of frito’s which between dives, couldn’t taste better. Freeport is pretty deserted, it’s low season and they’re still rebuilding from a hurricane two years ago, so I’m back at the greek restaurant who doesn’t mind me using their wifi all this time and I was just chatting with the waiter who is a jolly young guy. But only on the outside, some people hide things well, I should learn that trick some day. He asked where I was from and he yelled “Rhode Island?!”. His wife is from Rhode Island, small, small world that it is. He lived in the states for a few years in South Carolina and Miami, but overstayed his Visa and got kicked out and so now he can only skype with his wife and two young sons and his only hope of getting back to them is trying again in five years. FIVE YEARS. Let’s hope in five years there isn’t a wall around our entire perimeter. It’s real people, real families, real hardship, real sadness.

I’ve been diving for five years, my whole life has changed in five years, who will he be, who will his wife and children be in five years?