Bacalar

Originally written on January 2017.

He is floating, the clouds moving so slow for a moment he wonders if they are painted in the sky, until a plane passes by and the trace it leaves mingles with one of the clouds, making it look like an arrow. A few seagulls fly above him, but he can’t hear what them, ears submerged in the water. Instead there is the sound of the distant waves, the humming of the ocean and the faint echo of a dolphin’s call.

That’s the good thing of Sundays. All the time to be out there, with the blue sky and clear water, not caring about what happened outside of the sea. His fingers aren’t wrinkly yet but his lips are dry from the saltwater and the part of his hair that isn’t wet turned all spiked in many directions.

The sky looks so bright now, he has to close his eyes or else the sun will hurt them and blind him for a while. But it feels so nice to be out in the water, limbs spread on the surface without worrying he’ll drift off, his boat is well anchored to the pier and the rope tied around his ankle is in a tight knot in the boat he can be like this for a few more minutes, hours perhaps, but his cheeks start to feel dry and that’s how he decides to pull down the snorkel to protect his eyes and takes a deep breath to submerge in the water.

The world under the sea is so different from the sky above. He opens his eyes, bubbles already breaking the surface from his disruption of the water, and takes a look around. The coral reef is like a rainbow and with the light breaking through the water makes it look like it is trapped in a crystal box. He swims close to it, careful not to touch any of them, and marvels over the shoal of yellow fish that dance around some pink pillar corals, the fish not caring that they are being watched at all.

Bubbles float out of his nose and just a minute later he is breaking the surface to get more air in his lungs before submerging again, this time swimming further from the yellow fish and to see a sea turtle taking in one bite what he believes was a jellyfish. More bubbles form around him as he swims away from the turtle, not wanting to interrupt its lunch.

There are crabs at the bottom of the reef, puffs of sand dissolving with the currents when they move, legs moving fast despite the water being strong against their tiny bodies. The silhouette of a shark startles him, but the creature just swims past his leg and away, a string of bubbles shooting up from the boy’s mouth.

He comes out again, shaking off the water from his hair, tiny droplets returning to the sea. The snorkel is off, a thin red line on his skin from how tight it was against his face. The sun is now more to the left and he frowns. It is almost time to go back. With shoulders slumped he starts to swim towards his boat. It takes three tries to climb back into it, water splashing all around. The rope is all slippery and almost difficult to untie the knot around his ankle but at last he manages to loosen it up, lifting up the anchor that kept his boat safe.

With a last glance at the waves he grabs his oars and starts to row his way back to the shore.