– By William Cooper
It wasn’t too long after I had stepped from the plane in Hawai’i, my soft, bright white body blinding passers-by as parts of me that hadn’t been exposed to the elements in ten years slowly started to cook, that I found myself on the rock. The rock was near the shore at the end of a small walk from the parking lot. My friends had taken me there because of the tremendous snorkeling opportunities promised by the locals, a spot not in any guidebook or on any map. As somebody who had only ever snorkeled in Lake Erie in about 2 inches of water while watching goldfish as large as manatees nibble on any part of me that looked like a weed, I was both excited and trepidatious.
But I could not let it happen. I could not let go. I was left on the rock, wearing my flippers and mask, stomach plunging into my colon. The waves were strong and the undertow caressed my toes. My heart pounded. Every fear I could imagine surfaced. The razor-sharp edges of the rock cut away at my fingers.
I took a breath to steady myself, and then gracefully fell, slipping off both ledges on my ass and into the water with a panicked flailing. I pushed hard with both feet, launching myself from the coral and into a world of clear blue.
In the first few seconds, I heard it, a rapid seesawing somewhere above me. The more I listened to it, the more I realized that it was me, me panting, me about to hyperventilate.
As I looked down, trying to relax, fish of all colors and shapes flitted against the black lava and the entire world was luminescent blue. The universe opened up and I was weightless. My breathing slowed to a regular pace, and I turned.
The turtle was inches from me and turned as well to stare me in the eye. We both stopped swimming.
The plating on his head, various shades of green and blue, shone in the diffused late day sunlight. His wide, watery eyes rolled their gaze slowly across my face. And he hung there, suspended in fluid, flipper-fin-feet in motion contrary to the rolling tide. His carapace glistened against the dark crevasses of hidden fish heads and rock eels below. We stared at each other and then, wordlessly, we both started swimming.
In that moment, I lost all fear, all fear of anything and everything. We swam side-by-side around the reef, and I was a different person from any person I had ever known myself to be. I was fully the person I had ever dreamed myself to be. I had left my comfort zone far behind. I was free.
In this episode, we venture out of our comfort zones and dream about island living. After a hearty, rousing tale of food poisoning, William conquers his social anxiety to play a game where no winner is the winner, and then sets sail to a more northerly exposure where horses are horses and septic tanks are mystical. After being awarded a merit badge for hunger at an badly-planned “business meeting”, Scott gets quite drangry and fantasizes about moving to a volcanic paradise where entrees are plentiful and the only hot air being spewed his way comes from a mountain. We end up enjoying a trio of tropical tunes, which becomes quite personal for William, but in the end is just the warm, soothing breeze we both desperately need. Don HO!
Links
Vashon Island
Left, Right, Center
Girl Drink Drunk
Belafonte Sings of the Caribbean – RCA – 1957
The Polynesians – Hawaiian Wedding Song – Crown Records – 1978
Don Ho Greatest Hits! – Reprise – 1969
