night vision « Letters from Grenada

night vision

The summer I was 16 I went skin-diving in Hawaii. Have you ever? Propelled yourself as deep as possible, greedily seeing all you can see before your breath expires? Before the trip I practiced and practiced. I learned all the tricks. I exercised my will of iron. I got to the point where I could hold my breath for nearly two minutes. And it was worth it. Enveloped in the cocoon-like world of the ocean, with its brilliant colors and flashing shadows and utter silence, the sense of euphoria was so profound, it seeped into my very soul, like the saltwater through my hair, and remained even when my oxygen finally ran out and my lungs felt fit to burst. Then, and only then, I would calmly push off from the ocean floor, raise my arms above my head, and shoot to the surface. Upwards I went, effortlessly, and it felt like flying. The sunlight grew brighter and brighter, then turned to warmth on my skin. Sound came, clearer and clearer, and in the bare, slender moment before I burst through the surface, my sense of sound was utterly exquisite, superhuman. And then I was in the air again, filling my grateful lungs. I’d shake the water from my hair, already losing my grasp of the sensory wonders that lay mere seconds away in the past, but were simply too much to remember.

That’s what it was like waking up in the hospital. Well. Not exactly. But the bursting through the surface of the ocean part? And being greeted by sunlight and sound, rushing in as if desperate to fill in a vacuum? And then not being able to clearly recall where I’d just been? That part. That part was exactly the same.

My eyes were crusty and my mouth tasted awful. Metallic. Dusty. My wrist was a dull, throbbing ache. But other than that I felt OK. Groggy. Stiff. Sore. But OK.

My mother stood on the other side of the room, in front of a window, with her back to me. I could see that she was hugging herself, rubbing her own shoulders as if she were very cold.

“Mom?” My voice cracked. She turned and I saw that there were tears on her face, but she wiped them away as she moved towards me, and by the time she stood next to me her face was pink but dry and she was smiling.

“Why am I so thirsty?” I asked. She began to laugh. And didn’t stop. Just when I was starting to get annoyed, right when I was about to ask her just what was so funny, Gregory walked into the room. His face was smudged with dirt and there was a leaf stuck in the zipper of his leather jacket, but he was smiling slightly and oh wow was he beautiful. My mother saw him and her laughter turned hysterical. She clapped Gregory on the shoulder, and left the room. I heard her giggles get fainter as she walked down the hallway.

“She’s stressed. She was worried. And now she knows everything’s OK. So she’s laughing. Because she’s relieved. Even though it’s totally inappropriate. That’s a quote. Her quote, I mean. That’s what she said. She’s been doing this for the last couple of hours. Laughing. And then explaining. Your mom’s a good time, Zoie.”

I rolled my eyes in mock horror. “I’m glad you two enjoyed your alone time.”

“Yeah. Totally. It was a real bonding experience. I’m pretty sure I’m back on her Christmas list.”

He looked down, sheepish suddenly. He reached for my wrist and rubbed his thumb gently against the plaster. And then… Well, what happened next is private. None of your business. But let me assure you: IT WAS BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE. And it was only the beginning.

[originally posted at Too Many Cooks]