Unbroken Connection (16 page)
I thrash away from it, fight it off, so it can’t
get its teeth into me.
Sink, kick, sink, can’t keep afloat.
Michael points to the small white button
still grasped in my left hand. I punch it,
the B.C. bloats up—bobs me in the water.
He flips my reg over, and it’s a calm, docile
friend again.
“Calm, down, babe. Trust me.”
I can’t.
“Please, babe.”
I can’t.
“Please, babe.”
“No!”
I don’t meet his eyes as he loosens my B.C. straps,
holds it while I writhe free, and dumps my weights.
“Please, Leese. Try again.”
I so, so can’t.
I can run for the locker room. I can strip off
that stinking wetsuit and shower
and blow dry and make up and
wonder if he’ll ever call me, “babe,” again.
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10
D
IVE
B
UDDY
: Leesie
D
ATE
: 11/05
D
IVE
#: 2
L
OCATION
: Salt Lake
D
IVE
S
ITE
: Blue Divers training pool
W
EATHER
C
ONDITION
: colder
W
ATER
C
ONDITION
: placid
D
EPTH
: 10’
V
ISIBILITY
: getting dark
W
ATER
T
EMP
.: 78
B
OTTOM
T
IME
: 10 minutes
C
OMMENTS
:
I go back down and blow bubbles. I’m all geared up—paid for the pool and the tank, but it gets boring fast. I only stay under about ten minutes.
I change, rinse the gear, pack it up, chat with the guy in the office about booking pool time for Saturday. This pool is busy. He gives me the number of a couple of hotel pools that might let us have some time early in the morning when guests are snoozing.
Leesie walks out at last, her hair loose down her back. Bone dry. She stalks through the pool area and out the exit. I pick up both gear bags, nod to the guy in the office, and head out into the crisp fall day. The sun is gone. Clouds build overhead. Leesie waits by the Rav4. She walks towards me. “I’m sorry.” She tries to take one of the gear bags. “Guess I’m an expensive flop.”
I walk past her, still carrying both bags. “All you had to do was go down again. Common to panic the first time. It goes away.”
She’s on my heels. “Are you nuts? I was a basket-case.”
“Next time I’m not going to let you give up.” I swing open the hatch door and throw the gear in. “I’ll book another pool for Saturday.”
She takes a hold of my arm, bows her forehead into my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was so scared.”
I put my arms around her and kiss her forehead. “A lot of people panic the first time. Next time—”
“Please don’t make me.”
“What about our deal?”
She’s quiet a minute. “Do I get equal time?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, then.” She pulls out her cell and gets it dialing. “Can you get me the number for the BYU Elders? Yeah, I’ll wait.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “Great, thanks, Rox.”
Leesie gets the missionaries on the line. “My boyfriend wants to take the discussions.”
Kind of a blatant lie—that one. I shake my head, and she nods back at me. “How soon?” A pause. “You guys are that busy?” She turns around and lowers her voice. “You can’t see him before Thanksgiving? No, No. We’ll take it. November 29th. No problem.” She hangs up.
I get an awesome idea. “Thanksgiving, right. You get time off. Perfect. Do you think Roxi and Dayla would like to go with us down to Cozumel? You’ll be ready for open water dives by then.”
Leesie tries to look normal, but her eyes fill up. She gives in and sniffs.
“What? You’ll be ready for open water soon.”
“I miss my dad.” She falls apart into my shoulder. “Will you take me home?”
REPLAY
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM # 61, TAKING IT SLOW
I perch on the edge of a cushy lounge chair,
wonder how much it cost him to get this
marble wrapped pool for two hours, braid my hair,
and watch the black streak swimming
under water toward me.
He bought me a wetsuit—sexy
sleeveless style, black with yellow—
soaked it in an entire bottle of sweet
banana mango shampoo
before he gave it to me.
“Aromatherapy. No skills today. Only us
and the water.”
I inhale the scent, breathing
in cycles like he taught, trying
to stay calm, trying to forget
my nightmarish last attempt.
Michael pulling his wetsuit
wrapped body out of the pool
doesn’t help.
He bought himself a “shorty.”
I can’t take my eyes off his legs.
Even his knees overheat me.
“Slow breaths, Leese. Take it easy.”
I color and grumble. “Impossible with
you in the vicinity.”
He smiles and picks me up
like here comes the bride on her wedding night
and walks down the marble shallow end steps
into the water. Does he hear the sizzle
as the cool water reacts to
the steam he started?
I play with the curls on the back of his neck.
“You do this with all your students?”
“Only the ones I want to marry.”
His lips caressing mine
scatter my fear into a thousand tiny drops.
“We’ll take it slow today.” Kiss.
“Slow.” Kiss. “Slow.” Kiss. “Slow.”
We swim together like a dance—holding hands,
embracing, under the water, on it—he blows
magic dust around me and I am a fish, a dolphin,
a mythical tailed woman moving with joy
and ease through safe still water,
always in the circle of his arms.
He leaves me a moment, gears up while I float,
brings my scuba stuff into the water, wraps
the vest around me with achingly tender hands.
He lets me breathe with the reg on the surface until my heart
stops trying to break out of my chest and my brain
stops screaming, “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
“Just two minutes downstairs, okay?”
His hands clamp on the front of my vest.
(Not an issue since I don’t fill it out.)
His strong eyes invade my mask.
“One, two, three.”
Slow, slow, slow
we drift to the bottom—just over our heads.
Slow, slow, slow we lie still,
breathe as one.
Slow, slow, slow we drift
to the surface.
Ever so slow, he takes off my mask,
rinses my face, and kisses his praise.
That kiss is worth every second of terror,
every panicked heart beat,
every murky dream packed with slimy creatures
grasping my legs, entangling me with
scratchy appendages of unknown origin.
I panic the next time.
“Have you had enough?”
I shake my head,
keep my eyes open,
block out the fear with the image
of his face.
I breathe his rhythm,
he leads me, guides me,
deeper and deeper
into his world.
Terror pulses in my fingertips.
I fight it off, cling to Michael, and breathe
until the frightened haze floats away
in our entwined bubbles.
He brings me to the surface.
We tangle together in a clash of
scuba gear, his sexy knees, and my
black wrapped legs.
Lips and regulators.
My long braid.
I laugh. And kiss him.
Then we do it again.
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10
D
IVE
B
UDDY
: Leesie
D
ATE
: 11/12
D
IVE
#:—
L
OCATION
: Provo
D
IVE
S
ITE
: BYU
W
EATHER
C
ONDITION
: cloudy
W
ATER
C
ONDITION
: waves
D
EPTH
: over my head
V
ISIBILITY
: too clear
W
ATER
T
EMP
.: cooling off
B
OTTOM
T
IME
: couple hours
C
OMMENTS
:
Freak, Leesie’s tenacious. I’m not giving her much choice, but she’s sticking out the scuba stuff. Aced the written test yesterday. We’re going back to that hotel up in Salt Lake on Saturday. She did well there. I was freaking ready to rent a room by the time we were done last time. Crass but true. The thing is, I’ve never felt so much love for someone—even when we were supposedly making it. Every time she closed her eyes and let me pull her under, every time she matched her breathing to mine, every time her terrorized eyes locked on mine, I loved her more and more. It’s not like I’m going to attack her or anything, but this is killing me.