the man in the snorkel

“are you going?” the sea asked softly.

the man with the snorkel looked down. his wore a white shirt and big baggy beige trousers and clean airforces. he had looked at the forecast this morning and he picked clothes that would be comfortable but he forgot to pack diving gear. he always forgot the diving gear.

he’d sailed these waters for his whole life actually. these strange fantastical calm waters where from above the sea was as still as a pond but where beneath the surface it raged with the ferocity of ten thousand storms—according to the mr. snorkel. it’s so strange because i’m pretty sure the water is supposed to get calmer as you dive deeper.

the man with the snorkel just settled a messy divorce with his wife. she took the kids too. but dont feel bad for him—he actually cheated on her a lot and his kids found out and told her. he didn’t really put up a fight in court. and he’s honestly not a bad person aside from the infidelity. he’s alone now, though. he used to have friends but they made fun of him for not doing drugs and smoking and stuff like that and he never gave in to the peer pressure. he dealt with all his problems sober. oh and something he doesn’t know—his wife actually- oh look! he’s about to jump into the water!

the sea whispered again.

“are you going? do you fear what you’ll find down here?”

“i fear the storms,” the man with the snorkel answered, submerging his toes with his uncut toenails into the water. and then he submerged his legs. and then his torso. he felt the cold current at his feet twisting and writhing like something alive. oh, and it was cold too.

“then come,” the benevolent sea whispered. “come and see,” it said also, though less benevolently than before.

the man with the snorkel descended further, with now only his head above the water. a little splashed onto his face but he didn’t really mind. the man with the snorkel had the snorkel over his head but above his eyes because he thought he looked cool doing that but he actually looks funny that way (not the “we laugh with you” funny but rather the “we laugh at you” funny). he does that every day. his marriage was failing before his wife found out that he cheated and this is one of the reasons why.

“you look stupid in those goggles,” the not-so-benevolent sea said. “i’m not a sea either. i’m the ocean.” said the ocean.

“no i don’t” said the funny looking man with the snorkel now over his eyes. he held his nose and let the water take him. he descended steadily though at a seemingly accelerating rate. the pressure of the water started to build until it broke the seal of his snorkel and flooded into them, forcing him to close his eyes. salt water hurts.

“i said,” the ocean said angrily, “you look stupid in that snorkel.”

the man with the closed eyes began to sink faster. the storms began to question him, now enraged somehow. he hasn’t done anything wrong though.

“i bet you cant even swim” “your daughter’s birthday was yesterday, idiot. maybe you deserved the divorce” “this is why your wife left you!” the ocean told him.

the man with the closed eyes felt that his fears were now warranted. and he thinks—maybe i do look stupid in this snorkel—and it’s not like he needs them anyway. the salt water is already in his eyes. he hesitated a little, fingers fumbling a little more, lifting the stupid goggles from his face. he felt a pressure lifted from him. there was an inexplicable shift as if the indifferent universe of which he was a tiny, insignificant, inconsequential constituent had, for a brief moment, acknowledged his relatively meaningless life.

“you are not a foreigner,” the ocean spoke tenderly, its voice now a soft ripple. “we’re the same.”

a strange thought occurred to the man with the closed eyes. it was a subtle one but he felt that he was allowed to be in the ocean—that he was not unwelcome. perhaps he was entitled to being here. maybe he was meant to be here. another, even stranger thought occurred to him—i’m not fighting it anymore—and the thought lingered there for a little bit, sinking slowly but with determination and with a mission to ease the storm within his own head. he was no longer fighting life—he was fighting himself.

the ocean noticed this shift. actually the ocean knows this shift as a mother knows every facial expression and cry and wail and gesture her child makes. like a mother, the ocean spoke motherly-ly. “you’re right. you aren’t fighting it anymore”

the ocean can hear my thoughts? the man thought.

“yeah. we can hear your thoughts. also, no need for the formalities. you can call me the sea.”

we? there’s nobody else here

“yeah. there’s nobody else here.”

the man furrowed his brow, responding to the sea now without words but with his thoughts. what did you mean when you said “we’re the same?”

“okay well,” the sea paused “how long have we been here?”

don’t try to dodge my question! the man thought. annoyedly. and then he spoke.

“it feels like it’s been a few minutes… why?” he said, throwing his arms up.

“you aren’t holding your nose like a little kid anymore. you can breathe.”

are you giving me permission to breathe…? i can’t—

“no.” the sea said bluntly as if expecting such a silly question. “you’ve been breathing. you’ve been speaking underwater.”

the man didnt really panic or anything. the sea told him he’d been breathing and all of a sudden he felt as if he already knew that. the water wasn’t cold anymore. it wasn’t stinging or bullying him—it was just there. waiting for something. waiting for him. he opened his eyes.

“ow!!” he said, as if a victim of an injustice. "

“what made you think you could open your eyes in a salty sea?” the sea inquired.

“i don’t really know—it just felt like i’d be able to… ” he whined. “it’s about time i get going mr. sea.”

“okay, bye.”

and then the man started swimming up, only to discover he was like a foot underwater.