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in issue eleven
Scintillations
Playing Boggle
Seduction in the Snow
Curious Rain
The Opposite of Peas
Playing in the Vertical World
Bring on Broadway
(Parents)
Snorkeling Past Fear
You Won't Get Far
In Those Shoes
Legos
Freedom From Five Feet
Chasing Shadows
Mozzarella No More!
Letters FROM
My Younger Self
Moody Girl

photography & artwork
Dandelion, Elm, &
Firefly Faeries
Dog Wearing A Cone
Apples
Sun Petals &
Sprawling Daisy
Poppy Field

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Making Friends
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future issues
Issue 12: Synchronicity
Issue 13: Danger
Issue 14: Home
Issue 15: Transitions

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Snorkeling Past Fear
Julie Russell

"Are you coming?" My boyfriend's head is bobbing up and down with the Caribbean waves. I scoot to the edge of the boat and jump into the water. The water feels cold before my body adjusts to the temperature. I start to breathe slowly and intentionally while moving my fins back and forth. I adjust my mask, put my snorkel in my mouth, and swim out to him. Not bad, I tell myself, for a woman who was afraid to be knee deep in the ocean two weeks ago.

On a trip to Europe a few years back it took self induced threats and name calling before I waded into the warm Mediterranean Sea. If it wasn’t for my exasperation with being afraid, I never would have gone in the water. I forced myself in past my fears of sharks, barracudas, undertows, and the worst: getting salt water in my eyes. I wish I could say that as soon as I was treading water that the burden of my fears evaporated in the autumn sun. But I can't. I wore myself out thrashing my arms and legs about in all directions to keep from sinking and got out of there immediately. Fine, I think, I went in the water. Why would I bother to do that again?

Then my ocean-loving boyfriend invited me to go to the Caribbean. He knew nothing of my fears and expected me to snorkel with him. He directed me to the local scuba shop to buy snorkeling equipment for our upcoming trip. Maybe, I thought, the ocean wouldn’t be so bad this time, maybe since I wouldn’t be alone, my fears won’t be so overpowering. I acquiesced and dropped $250 on cool-looking gear and wondered if the adventure would be worth the expense.

I got my first chance to try out my snorkeling gear at St. Maarten, US Virgin Islands, when my options were to cook in the hot sun or jump in the water. My boyfriend didn't waste a moment running through the waves into the ocean, but my old fears were holding me back. Barracudas were out there, I was sure of it, and if not, salt water would probably get in my eyes and blind me forever.

"Come on!" he waved at me from the water.

Barracudas or not, here I come, I told the waves. I walked in wearing my face mask and snorkel while holding my fins in my left hand. I figured my mask was a useful weapon against the salt water blinding me, so I let go of that fear for a moment. I walked through the waves until I was waist deep, put my fins on clumsily, and started swimming out to him. I rested my face in the water and exhaled through my nose, breaking the seal on my mask and letting a wave of salt water into my eyes. Blinded and terrified, I treaded water frantically while trying to dump the water out of the mask.

"Just keep your eyes closed for a moment, let them tear up and that will wash the salt water out," my boyfriend told me. Sure enough, my eyes started to feel better and I learned by trial and error and salt water filling my mask a few more times to breathe only out of my mouth. My new rigid fins got heavy immediately, making it hard to get really excited about snorkeling, but the most disappointing part of the experience was there was nothing to see. There was absolutely nothing below me to look at in the water. Not a fish, not a plant, just boring white sand. After fifteen minutes of looking down at nothing I was tired and ready to go back.

I laid on my beach chair and fed my tired body local beer and sun, and thirty minutes later I was ready to try again. This time, I insisted, snorkeling would be on my terms. I took my mask and snorkel and left my heavy fins behind. Staying close to the shore I gradually learned I could float easily on top of salt water and breathe easily through the pipe. I noticed fragments of bleached coral and shells below me and dove to the bottom without a second thought. I grabbed a bland piece of coral, a trophy from my first underwater plunge. When I came back up for air I didn't know to breathe out of the snorkel first to force water from the tube and ended up with a mouthful of brine. At least it was better than water in my eyes, I laughed at myself, and I knew that was one rookie mistake I wouldn't make again.

I began to enjoy the weightlessness of floating on salt water while seeing underwater but eventually yearned for something new. I wanted to see a fish, any fish. I swam in circles looking until finally a lone transparent round fish darted past me. Impulsively and uncharacteristically, I chased it. The fish saw me and was gone in an instant. Maybe those fins aren’t a bad idea after all, I mused. Still, I was pleased with my adventure and swam back to the shore for another round of beer and sun.

Snorkeling in Key West, Florida a few days later was my idea. After the money I spent on equipment I wasn't going to miss my last chance to swim wetsuit-free. Plus I needed to see fish – bright, colorful, audacious fish – to be satisfied. It took less than two seconds to convince my boyfriend before we were headed out to a reef by boat.

"Are you coming?" my boyfriend is asking from the water. I jump in and feel a slight chill from the water. I follow him out a few yards from the boat and float lazily on the waves, resting my face calmly on the water. Yellow fish, neon blue fish, red fish, multicolor fish, and a few eel-like gray barracudas swim below me in their saline garden. I reason if the barracudas aren’t bothering me, I won’t bother them. I have no sense of time, no sense of anything but peace, having left all my fears behind on the shore off St. Maarten.