| POEMS | FICTION | ESSAYS | PHOTOS/GRAPHICS | CONTACT |
| 2003 | 2004 | 2005 | 2006 | 2007 | 2008 |
Alix Bregman
I imagine myself being swallowed up. The water immerses me, engulfing me in a single icy blast. If I stay down a little longer, suddenly death will overcome my thrashing body, and I will sink deeper and deeper below the calm surface.
Yet the Pacific Ocean is beautiful today. Shimmering in the blazing sunlight of Hawaii, it lies still as our sailboat cruises away from the cove. I gaze down to the turquoise mass below. The marine life is visible through the dense blue layer. The graceful ocean sits, rippling quietly as creatures rustle below.
Even at eleven I know better. My hair is curled to my chin, red as my skin from the constant exposure to the sun, and I quiver slightly as my family reaches for snorkels in a salty pit of a bucket. The goggles look as if some scientific procedure is about to take place, and the snorkel attached to the left side appears to be a filthy test tube no longer in use. The water appears ominous, daring our band of cheery tourists to snorkel. They float like the dead on the salty top coating, resting above the community of sea creatures. I stare distastefully through narrowed eyes.
My parents, equally crisp from the sun’s glare, shake their heads, handing me a sticky clear snorkel. The sprinkled salt coats it, and I grudgingly put it around my head. As they prepare to step off the ladder leading from our majestic sailboat below to the vast ocean, the silver spikes dare me deeper, and yet I doubt the ladder’s safety as I too begin my trek downwards.
As I descend, my legs drag on the ladder’s rungs. Just before I reach the bottom, I grasp for my mother’s arm, begging her to get us proper floating devices. Finally finding a means of safety, I am presented with a noodle. Artificially orange, it looks like a genetically engineered carrot, or the tip of a highlighter. I am dissatisfied with my spindly wisp of buoyancy, yet there is little reason to ask for a life jacket. No one on the boat of snorkeling tourists has any interest. I let go of the flimsy ladder.
The water surrounds me like a busy mob, and the salty flurry frightens me as it slithers past my flopping legs. My red, wet hands grope for the wobbling orange noodle, and I gasp for air just before my head hits the water.
“Mom!” I plead, “Don’t let go.”
She loosely holds the other end of my safety line. Her tightly curled head bobs in and out of the water with little concern. She’s pointing out sea turtles and coral reefs, smiling irritably while I hug the noodle. My eyes dart as she kicks her feet and tugs us along.
I take in the scene as I desperately tread water. My body nods in the sea while I scrutinize the flamboyant bathing suits of other vacationers. The tourists stand out against the pristine cool blue, back sides stuck out of the water like lifeless rocks. They’re all dodging between little waves, gulping for air as they search for life in the mysterious H2O.
“Would-ya look at this?”
“Honey, come here!”
“This is extraordinary!”
The voices buzz around me, echoing through my awkward snorkel.
I think to myself about The Little Mermaid, and the scene where Prince Eric is yanked underneath the water for what seemed to be hours. “That was just a movie,” I tell myself. “I’m eleven, I know better. Disney has no effect on me…”
A wake hits us. The rippling salt-mass approaches so quietly, I am unprepared. Lost in my thoughts, the blue surge slithers in-between my mother and myself. My mom hardly floats above it, while I shriek. She’s letting go.
“Mom! Mom!! I SAID DON’T LET GO!” I cry at the agonizing thought of her hand unclenching from my orange noodle.
The weight of security loosens its grasp. I am conscious of my size six feet drifting farther down into the flooded abyss. The tugging of the noodle tries to coax me deeper below. I am up to my shoulders now, the noodle sticking high in the air, orange as a blazing fire gun.
My lips taste salt. It’s the splash of my mother swimming away, her strong legs kicking farther into the distance. Her mass of tight curls fade as she disappears, departing amidst a large group of more adventurous tourists. I feel my cries pierce the air as she flips salt in my direction. Sliding past me, she ignores my frantic pleas as my arms lash the water. She’s looking deeper, at turtles and coral, while I’m trapped above water. Trembling, I bounce around in the vast ocean. Alone, I jerk my head at the endless sky above.