A Tiny Piece of Something Greater

by Jude Sierra

  The dive shop is slow today, and once he’s finished studying, Joaquim straightens shelves. He pulls items from them and cleans and dusts before putting things back. On Thursday, he will start teaching a new beginner’s class. He tries to anticipate that.

  “Key Largo Dive Center,” Joaquim says when the shop phone rings. “This is Joaquim, how may I help you?”

  “Um…” Joaquim hears the sound of a throat being cleared. “I was wondering. Well, um. Your website… I’m not sure… Is there a class starting tomorrow?”

  Joaquim switches the phone to his other ear. It’s an old one, with a spiral cord hooked to the base; the heavy receiver is an unusual shape in his palm.

  “We’re starting a few classes,” Joaquim says, flipping open the schedule book.

  “The beginner one? Um, the Open Water SCUBA class?”

  “Yes. Usually they’re filled up by now—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry! I should have thought of that.”

  “It’s okay,” Joaquim’s fingers fly over the keyboard as he looks up the enrollments. “I was going to say that I could check to see if there were still openings. And, lucky for you, there is one.”

  “Oh.” The boy—Joaquim thinks it’s a boy—sounds pleased.

  “I’ll warn you, sometimes we have kids in these classes. We do this time. Are you comfortable with that?”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course. Kids are cool.”

  Joaquim smiles. “Well, then why don’t you give me your information, and we’ll get you enrolled. You might have to stop by the shop today to pick up some necessities if you don’t already have them.”

  “I don’t even know what they are.”

  “Well, come in, and we’ll go through it all. How’s that sound?” Joaquim says.

  “I can do that.”

  Two hours later, Joaquim has cleaned everything he can think of to clean. The boy he spoke to on the phone—Reid Watsford—said he’d come in a few hours. Since Joaquim is teaching the class, he hopes he’ll be here when Reid comes in so he can meet him. Maybe he can assuage what seemed, over the phone, to be uncertainty or anxiety.

  At exactly two, Reid arrives. Joaquim is behind the shelf with the masks and somewhat hidden from view. This Reid kid is nothing like Joaquim pictured. He’s wearing a simple, short-sleeved black shirt, impossibly tight black jeans that are so ripped up they seem to be held together by threads, and a canvas rainbow belt. His hair is dyed blond, dark at the roots, and artfully messy. Joaquim spots several tattoos on his arms; his right arm is a pattern of outlined, layered geometric shapes that stand out in sharp relief against his pale white skin. The design disappears under the hem of his sleeve. His forearm is a riotous splash of ink and color; Joaquim can’t tell just yet what they form. Reid wanders to the counter and looks around, presumably for him. Joaquim comes from behind the mask shelf and clears his throat.

  “Hi,” he says, offering his hand to shake. Reid takes it carefully, as though he wasn’t expecting it, or as if this is a foreign gesture. Joaquim swallows. Reid’s eyes are beautiful, ice-blue rimmed by darker blue. He’s wearing eyeliner, and his eyebrow is pierced twice. His ears sport several piercings, including a barbell and a really cool large triangle that goes through the middle of one ear. Joaquim has never seen that. “I’m Joaquim.”

  “Reid,” the boy says. He seems to be about Joaquim’s age. “Joaquim?” He says it slowly, trying out the proper pronunciation. He doesn’t come close, but Joaquim appreciates the attempt.

  “You can call me J. Most people do. And since I’ll be your instructor for the class, you’ll be seeing a lot of me.” Joaquim eyes the floor as his face heats up. He’s lucky his skin is darker so blushes don’t show too obviously. He blushes a lot when he’s nervous, which is mostly around hot guys he doesn’t know. Right now, his hands are sweating.

  Quickly, as though he needs the safety of distance from this gorgeous boy, he slips behind the counter and fishes around for a list of things Reid might need.

  “J,” Reid says, testing it out. “I can do that. But I still want to practice saying it the right way.”

  Joaquim risks a glance, barely making eye contact, and smiles. He clears his throat and tells himself to chill out. “Okay, so this is a list of equipment you’ll need. Some you’ll want to buy, and a lot of it you can rent. Have you ever dived or snorkeled?”

  “Nope.” Reid’s unwavering eye contact is both warming and unnerving.

  “Well, I’m going to advise that you rent then. Renting some things will help you figure out what you like. Other things are so expensive I’d never advise you to buy them unless you decide you are serious about diving and plan to do a lot of it.”

  “Great. Okay. So. Um…?”

  Joaquim leads him over to the masks, points to several, and describes them one by one. Confidence comes from his competence and, while he’s describing what Reid will want or need, he calms down.

  “Will these be a problem?” Reid gestures toward his eyebrow piercings. “Any of them?”

  “No, your mask will be well above your eyebrows,” Joaquim says. He touches Reid’s forehead about where it should hit and then snatches his hand back. Don’t be weird. What’s wrong with me?

  Reid doesn’t say anything, nor does he flinch. Joaquim forces himself not to clear his throat and moves on. He’s rather proud that he maintains eye contact and that he doesn’t make a ridiculous face when Reid’s lips twitch.

  By the time Reid has gone, Joaquim is a tongue-tied mess. Holding it together for a student is one thing. As an instructor, Joaquim’s quiet, chill nature is a great asset. He’s level and personable; his divers appreciate it. He’s good at calming the ones who freak out. Cute boys, though? Cute boys are his downfall, and around them, Joaquim often devolves into a shy awkwardness that’s totally at odds with his personality. Plus, he’s new to teaching, and he’s never had to instruct someone he’s attracted to. Before tomorrow, Joaquim has got to get a handle on his idiotic tendency to fall apart around cute boys.

  Three

  Reid rolls down the windows and blasts the air conditioner. He was in the dive shop long enough for the car to become a sauna. Reid’s all for being warm, but the way the car becomes a small greenhouse with a burning steering wheel is too much for him.

  He leaves the door propped open and looks back at the shop. Joaquim. Reid can’t figure out how to think the name with the correct pronunciation. Reid’s come here to get himself together, not to get together with anyone, but, damn. That kid is hot. He has short black hair that hints at a curl, perfectly smooth, light brown skin, and long, thick lashes framing wide brown eyes. He seemed flustered at first, which was flattering, but then settled into a comfortable groove. Somehow, he reminds Reid of Nancy.

  Reid once tried to explain to his mother about people with particular energies. Nancy’s office was over an hour from their home, a drive that placed a burden on everyone in the family, be it from shuffling cars or driving Reid themselves. One therapist seemed as good as another to them. Reid didn’t know how to articulate the reason, but as soon as he met Nancy he knew he had someone special in his corner, someone who would really benefit his recovery.

  “You’re kidding, right?” his father said. Dinner steamed on the table, and as he buttered a roll, a familiar story scrolled across his face; his expression said he thought Reid was some sort of alien.

  “I’m not saying I read auras or anything.” Reid rolled his eyes and ignored the food his mother dished onto his plate. Actively resisting the urge to roll his eyes again, he took the plate from her hands. “I’m just saying I felt calm. She felt calm. I liked being around her energy.”

  “Reid, she’s a therapist,” Sean pointed out.

  “Dad, you don’t have to talk to me like I’m an idiot,” Reid said. Familiar frustration rose, tight in his chest and the palms of his hands. He dug his fingernail into the nai
l bed of his thumb, hard, and exhaled at the small, burning pain. “I’ve met other people—you know what, forget it and just pass the peas.”

  There was a long silence while his parents’ eyes bored into him. Reid got his pale blue eyes from his mother and his light coloring from them both. When seen together, there was no doubt he was their son; together they seemed like a beautiful family.

  Together, truthfully, they were a mess, because Reid was a mess.

  “Please,” he added. The light played over the tines of the fork he was fiddling with.

  They conceded, even if the concession lacked grace. And he never mentioned this kind of energy to anyone again. Nancy’s was one of the biggest factors when Reid chose to stay with her and check in via Skype rather than seek out a new therapist in Key Largo. Her energy keeps their therapy group together.

  Joaquim didn’t seem quite like Nancy. Still, there was something magnetic about him, something that made Reid want to linger.

  * * *

  Reid’s not generally insecure, although he realizes his anxiety makes him come off that way. And while his initial week in Key Largo goes smoothly enough, that restlessness, tight in his muscles—that anxiety coiling and coiling until he’s shaking out his hands and pacing—haunts him. His mood has been good, but he needs to do something more than sit in his grandmother’s condo or on the beach contemplating the relatively waveless water. He’s even given the book version of The Lord of the Rings a try. He seems to remember liking the movie well enough, but the book is torture, an unadulterated bore.

  “Grams, what do you do for fun out here?” he complained the night before his visit to the dive shop. Reid barely spoke to his own parents, but he did call his grandmother every other night.

  “Play cribbage and Rummikub with the girls by the pool?” Traces of light laughter made Reid frown. “Go for boat rides with the Kelleys. Have you met them yet, dear?”

  “No, Grams.” He didn’t offer more, because he couldn’t think of anything more awkward than a gay twenty-year-old with multiple piercings and made-up eyes knocking on an old couple’s door, not that his grandmother’s friends would mind. They tried to sucker him into a game of cribbage a few days ago. Since he had no idea how to play, he politely declined.

  “Well, I’ll try to think of some things. If anything comes up, I’ll email you. Have you thought about learning to scuba dive? You did always love the water.”

  “Oh, huh,” Reid said. He was pacing a loop through the small kitchen, through the tiny dining room, and circling the living room, over and over. He’d bitten his thumbnail down until he had nothing left to bite. He shook out his hand. “No, can I? Like, are there special rules?”

  “No, Reid, I think pretty much anyone can. Even kids. They have to be a certain age, I think.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “I hear good things about Key Largo Dive Shop. Why don’t you give them a call? I’ll wire you some money.”

  “Grams, no one wires money anymore. And you don’t have to send me money, either.”

  “I’ll stick it in your PayPal thing and I’ll call it wiring, how’s that?” she said, with the famous Watsford sass clear in her voice.

  Reid knew from that tone that nothing he said or did would deter her.

  He hates that he’s living off of his parents’ and grandmother’s goodwill and his own dwindling savings. He’s only been here a week, but Reid has never lived on his own. He’s never learned to budget for groceries and gas and his own phone. He’s never had a job that paid more than minimum wage.

  Some people, like Felix, would say that’s because he’s spoiled. Really, it’s because his parents—without meaning to be—are very controlling, as if watching his every move and giving him very few freedoms might manage his mental illness.

  When he gets home from the dive shop, he’s still agitated, as though tomorrow is miles and miles away. As soon as he’s in the condo again, he realizes he needs to get the fuck out. Often, Reid can zone out with mindless television shows; he can’t bake for shit and knows nothing about tools, but loves any show featuring large-scale home renovations or cupcakes. The Great British Baking Show is his most secret guilty pleasure. Even Felix doesn’t know about it. One of the luxuries of living alone is the ability to record anything from the TV without anyone knowing. But now a jittery anxiety curls through him, the kind a television show or even his favorite books won’t drown or soothe. It’s hot enough outside for him to regret wearing pants, but he doesn’t own shorts and is loath to get some, both for aesthetic reasons and because of the cost.

  He changes into swim trunks, although the bay water will be too warm. Donning flip-flops, he makes his way out of the screened porch and into the backyard. The foliage, if one could call it that, is different from what he’s used to: ferns and a buttonwood tree, tall grasses and a gigantic aloe plant. Almost hidden between the buttonwood and the alien aloe plant he’s named Joe is a flight of uneven stairs leading down a steep hill to the water. They’re made, as everything here is, from coral. The beach is tiny. The Largos has a larger beach near the big dock and a midsized one near the little dock, which he can see around the curve of land to his right. This tiny beach is meant for the residents of Tamarind, the farthest condo building from the gate, the big dock, and the pool, and few condo residents come here. He guesses that the median age in this building prevents any of them from climbing down the hill, even with those stairs.

  This little stretch of beach isn’t beautiful. It’s scrubby, and there’s seaweed on the waterline. The water makes a gentle shush and gurgle as it laps the sand. The thing he’s most puzzled by, perhaps disgruntled by, is the sand. Reid’s only been to Big Bay Beach on Madeline Island, where his family took an annual summer trip for years when he was a kid, but the sand there was fine. Reid remembers that he loved playing with it. He didn’t care to build sandcastles, but would run the sand between his fingers, let it slip through them, bury his fingers in a little pile of it, and enjoy the juxtaposition of softness and graininess.

  The sand in the Keys is rougher, with much larger grains. Reid looked it up when he first arrived, only to find out that it’s because sand is not natural to the Keys, which are actually coral atolls and not true islands. The beaches here are manmade and the sand scrapes against his bare feet, which he needs to toughen up.

  Though it’s not the most beautiful of beachy places, Reid likes it. It’s solitary. The only noises he hears are the gulls and the water and occasionally a motor as a boat goes by or revs up by the small dock. He’s waded into the water a few times, but there’s a ton of seaweed and it’s incredibly mucky; without water shoes it’s definitely gross. And there are jellyfish that look like sea plants. They sit in the shallow water; some sting mildly, some not at all. Reid’s picked up a few to examine them. They are diverse and cool and weird. The water on this bay side of Key Largo is different than on the ocean side; over there they get actual waves. It’s not far, but he hasn’t made the time to go. He hopes that scuba diving will get him in those waters.

  Reid loves being in the water. At night, right before they turn out the lights at the pool, he loves to dip in and under, loves the erasure of noise and of his body weight. It’s almost worth the crazy motherfucking mosquitos.

  Four

  All day, Joaquim anticipates his class, partly because a young girl, Erin, is enrolled and Joaquim loves working with kids. Mostly, though, it’s because he is intrigued by this Reid guy. He wants to wax poetic about him to someone, but Bobby’s not that kind of guy and Nina is nowhere to be found.

  After his shift at the shop, he flops dramatically onto his bed and stares at the ceiling.

  “What’s that face about?” Bobby asks. Joaquim is surprised he’s looked away from his computer long enough to ask. His color is high, with splashes of pink along his cheekbones.

  “Did you have a dive today?” Joaquim asks.

&
nbsp; “Mmm.” Undiverted, Bobby smiles and turns back to his game. “Must be about a guy.”

  Joaquim stares at him, but that’s all Bobby says.

  After Bobby dons his headset and starts talking to someone about whatever mission he’s on, Joaquim puts in his earphones, settles into his bed, and texts Sofia.

  Joaquim: Cute boy alert

  It takes a while to get a response.

  Sofia: Where?

  Joaquim: In the shop today. OMG. Srsly SoSo. Gorgeous

  She responds ten minutes later.

  Sofia: Tell me about the boy.

  Joaquim: He’s in my beginner class tomorrow. I’ll know then. Where u at?

  Sofia: Club w/ Luiz. LOLZ baby. A guy in a mask tells it all.

  Joaquim: Shut up.

  Joaquim: You should see him

  Joaquim frowns because he misses his sister so much. But if she’s with Luiz, he’ll be waiting a while for responses.

  He texts Nina to ask where she is.

  Nina: At Salty’s

  He groans. Salty John’s is a local bar, and Nina is obsessed with a bartender there. If he goes, he’ll definitely end up a third wheel.

  Instead of pouting, he pulls out his laptop and sends an email to his mom and dad, catching them up on the more mundane aspects of his week. He’s working on his specialty certification in wreck diving, which makes for a nicely descriptive paragraph. His Thursday dive had the potential for perfection: the sun was bright and the wildlife on the reef were particularly active. Unfortunately, a diver panicked, and he had to intervene. Joaquim puts a funny spin on the story so as not to worry them.

  He doesn’t mention meeting Reid. Joaquim isn’t out to his whole family. He’s not hiding his sexuality, exactly; it’s never come up. Maybe they think he is, but no one’s ever asked him. Joaquim doesn’t tell people unless they ask. It’s no one’s business unless they’re trying to get into his pants, or vice versa. He doesn’t walk around asking people if they’re straight, after all.