by Jude Sierra
* * *
Reid is packing up his books at the end of their first class when Nina catches Joaquim’s eye from across the room and tilts her head toward Reid. She winks, and Joaquim rolls his eyes. She widens her eyes, the bright green of them flashing in the fluorescent lights, and so he steels himself and sits next to Reid.
“So.” He clears his throat. Reid’s unwinding earbuds from his phone, which he’d tucked into the pocket of his bag. Joaquim is struck by how tired he seems, and again by how startling his pale blue eyes are with that cobalt ring around his irises.
“So,” Reid says back. His lopsided smirk is both lazy and a little playful. His eyes brighten. Although Joaquim deliberately makes eye contact with each student throughout class to get them used to the form of one-on-one connection that will serve them well with buddies and instructors when in the water, the eye contact Reid is making is of a very different sort. It’s not-so-subtle flirtation, which is fine, and offers a nice counterpoint to his own, much subtler reciprocation. He’s been told his invitation is in his smile, but he’s never been able to pinpoint what exactly he’s doing or how to replicate it. It just happens. Reid’s smile widens, and then his gaze flickers up when Mike, the Dive Center owner, comes up.
“Hi there,” he says, holding a hand out to Reid. “I’m Mike Schafer, I run this joint. How’d today go? Joaquim working out for you?”
Reid stand and takes his hand. Joaquim stands as well. Mike likes to check in, make sure that there’s a good rapport between instructors and students; what they do is fundamentally tied to the ability to trust the instructor. He’s a big guy with a strong grip and a friendly face. Its warmth is meant to combat what is an otherwise intimidating frame.
“Yeah, this is great.” Reid kicks at the ground. “I’m excited. Good change of pace for me.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Mike’s stance is casual and genuine. He likes to know his divers and students.
“Naw, I’m from a town called Eau Claire, in Wisconsin.” Reid tucks his hands into his pockets. Joaquim reads clamming up in the movement, in the tightening shoulders and flickering eye contact. Reid’s gone from flirting openly, though quietly, to being slightly agitated and tense. Mike must sense it, too, since he wishes Reid good luck, claps Joaquim on the shoulder, and moves on. On the other side of the classroom, little Erin is lingering with her father.
“I think she’s waiting for me,” Joaquim says to Reid. Reid’s already got one earbud in. “But I’ll see you tomorrow?” Unsure of his body language, he refrains from touching Reid or standing too close. Reid nods.
“Yeah, I can’t wait.”
Joaquim watches him shoulder his bag and walk back through the dive shop.
That night, Joaquim, Nina, and Tammy go to Salty’s. Although his beginner class starts at the butt-crack of dawn, he stays out too late, drinks one too many, and word-vomits about how gorgeous Reid is. Nina, clearly amused, shakes her thick mahogany hair over her shoulder when he describes Reid’s eyes for the fourth time.
“Why don’t you ask him out?”
Joaquim looks around at them, all exaggeration and deliberation. “Where? When? With the fourteen seconds of free time I have?”
Tammy brightens. “Joaquim, it’s been so long since you got laid, that’s about all you need.”
“Oh, my god, woman, shut up!” Joaquim pushes her playfully; she’s had more to drink, so she starts to slide off her stool.
“Opa!” he says, catching her one-handed and spilling the Hurricane he was holding in his other hand. She smooths her skirt; her high ponytail is slipping, blonde hairs escaping. They frame her pretty face.
“Everyone okay?” Sam, the bartender who is the object of Nina’s admiration, asks.
Nina groans and smacks her forehead. “You guys are a lightweight freak show.”
“Oh, my god, woman, shut up!” Tammy says, in a poor imitation of Joaquim’s accent.
“I do not sound like that!” he protests. “And besides, who are you making fun of anyway?”
“I honestly have no idea,” she replies. Her drink, in her loose grip, balances so precariously that Nina grabs it.
“You’re gonna drop it, break a glass, and get us kicked out,” Joaquim says. Now that he’s more tuned in, Tammy seems drunker than she should be. “You’re not taking a group out tomorrow, are you?” he asks.
Tammy shakes her head. “I’m just tired, I think.”
Joaquim checks his cell and shakes his head. “Yeah, we need to get back. My eight a.m. won’t teach itself.”
“Please do not sigh and act like you cannot wait to see that boy again, time of day or not,” Nina says.
Joaquim struggles not to smile and shrugs. She’s not far wrong.
Five
Between sitting by the beach, walking along Highway 1 listening to music, and wandering in and out of kitschy tourist specialty shops too many times, Reid can officially state that he’s going to lose his mind. Not because he’s, you know, crazy, but because he’s bored.
Reid is itching for fun, though he loves his diving classes. Well, really, he’s enjoying his crush. Diving Theory isn’t all that thrilling. At least they’ve moved on to instruction in the pool. He can’t wait to go out in the ocean. Yesterday was Reid’s first time using a respirator and, of course, he made a total fool of himself. Reid is used to fear; he knows its every flavor and shape. The second he began using the respirator underwater, he was caught off guard by instant, painful panic. Reid could breathe, sure, but it felt different and that compounded the problem. The mask, the respirator, the silence that wasn’t silence, all combined to create claustrophobia.
No one else freaked out. First-time panic couldn’t be that unusual, however, considering Joaquim’s practiced response.
“It’s normal,” he said. Reid shook his head, knuckled water from his face, and closed his eyes. He tried to regulate his breathing, and, when he opened his eyes, Joaquim’s eyes were unerringly on his. He matched his breathing to Reid’s. Once Reid calmed, he realized that they were both still crouched in the water with Joaquim’s hands on his shoulders and a whole world still spinning around them.
“Ugh, I feel so stupid,” Reid said.
“Really, don’t.” Joaquim squeezed his shoulders once and dropped his hands. “It’s very natural. Our instincts run completely counter to breathing underwater. And it feels different. Really different.”
“But I’m a strong swimmer.” Reid huffed and squared his shoulders. “Shouldn’t that—”
“Well then, maybe your brain is too well-trained, and your instincts about what you do and don’t do underwater are automatically kicking in,” Joaquim said.
Reid let himself look at Joaquim. He let Joaquim meet his gaze and thought about trust: learning to trust himself, learning to trust others. Joaquim helped him with his mask and positioned them both with their chins above water. He counted back from three and, when Reid slid into the water, Joaquim went with him. Reid forced himself to keep his eyes open. Joaquim used one hand, lifting and lowering, to guide Reid’s breathing. Even through their masks, he could see Joaquim’s eyes clearly. Reid wrapped it all around himself: the motion of Joaquim’s hand, his steady eyes, the white noise that could be kind, should Reid let it.
Joaquim is the most interesting thing on this whole island, and not only because Reid wants to fuck him. He’s very good at eye contact, which is nice but also a little difficult to receive. Reid’s never sure how one is supposed to hold eye contact. He becomes incredibly self-conscious and then isn’t sure where to look or how long or how often.
Joaquim is also gorgeous. He has unblemished skin Reid longs to touch, eyes so dark they’re almost black, and a slight accent that sounds like the shapes of the words themselves are melting at their edges. He’s taller than Reid; if Reid had to guess, he’d say just shy of six feet. What really int
erests Reid, though, is Joaquim’s calm, the antithesis of his own jagged edges and shifting energy. Reid wouldn’t mind basking in Joaquim’s presence for days.
Unfortunately, Reid cannot sneak into the Dive Center’s pool and paddle around after Joaquim to share cosmic energy, or whatever fucking weird thing he’s thinking. Reid shakes his head, and an earbud flies out. He’s pacing the grounds from one condo building to the next, enjoying the shift of coral pebbles that make up the paths through the wooded areas on the property.
The sunlight dapples the ground as the wind tosses the trees above him. He’s trying to talk himself out of his own strangeness, counting his steps one after another, and he’s repeated and repeated the same route for over twenty minutes when he bumps into someone.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” Reid rips his earbuds out, then winces when he sees it’s Roy Wilson, the condo manager. “Oh fuck, language.” He cringes when Roy laughs.
“Don’t worry about it.” Roy waves it off.
Reid isn’t sure if he needs to make small talk or if he should move on.
“Spoke to your grandma the other night,” Roy says casually. Reid freezes.
“You spoke with her?” Fucking great. Another family member checking in on him behind his back. He never thought Grams would pull this kind of crap. His parents do this to Reid all the time. No one trusts him to manage on his own. How the hell is Reid supposed to trust himself if no one else will?
“Yeah, did she not tell you? She and I—”
“Wait, what?” Reid shakes his head.
“Oh, damn, son. She’s gonna kill me for this.”
Reid squints into the green foliage surrounding them and tries to wrap his mind around this. “So wait, you are like, together?”
“Well, uh.” Roy scratches his head. He’s almost bald and sweat glistens on his scalp.
“Wow. Um, congrats?” Reid hazards. “Be good to her?”
Roy meets his eyes, and they both laugh. “I am, I promise.”
“Knowing Grams, I should be asking her to be sure she’s nice to you.” Reid loves his grandma, who is amazing, but also a handful.
Roy shrugs sheepishly. “Well, anyway, I spoke to her, and she mentioned that you were getting a little bored.”
He’s momentarily annoyed that his grandmother is sharing personal information with a man who is, by all standards, a stranger to Reid. He is so busy being unsettled, he misses the next part.
“I’m sorry, come again?”
“My bud Shel over at the Shell World needs a cashier.”
“You know a guy named Shel who works at Shell World?” Reid repeats slowly.
“I know, I know,” Roy says. “Anyway, you have any interest? It’s right across the highway and down a bit. You can walk if you want.” When Reid meets his gaze, he sees that Roy’s eyes are lined with kindness. It’s probably been impossible for people to miss the young man wearing dark clothes and obsessively walking the grounds with his head down, day after day. “You got a lot more commitment to this healthy exercise thing than I do,” Roy says, as he pats his belly.
Reid squints and tries to recalibrate. Nancy is forever trying to point out that Reid perceives constant judgment from the world, and that sometimes his reactions—when his perception is off, overreactions—only worsen a situation. With that in mind, he doubts that a seventy-year-old man, who is dating Reid’s grandmother and rubbing his own belly with what could only be called affection, is judging Reid as harshly as he thought.
The constant hum of cicadas envelops them. “Yeah, um, that sounds cool,” Reid says. He doesn’t have a burning desire to work at Shell World, but he is incredibly bored, and Reid and bored is a dangerous combination. And he really, really wants to have some independence from his family.
“Great! I can give him a call. Or, you know, he’s there all day today,” Roy says. Reid tries not to bristle; he doesn’t even like when his family tries to push or guide him, and this guy is definitely not family.
Reid inhales and shakes his hands out once, trying to move the irritation off and out. It’s a constant buzz right now; it colors everything he sees and hears and, probably, everything he perceives.
“Yeah, I got time,” Reid says. He puts his hands in his pockets. Roy looks at him and he looks at Roy and nothing much happens other than the unceasing soundtrack of the cicada song. Finally, Roy clears his throat, pats Reid on the arm, and wishes him luck.
After he’s left, carrying with him the crunching sound of sandaled feet on the path, Reid closes his eyes and tries to settle into the hot, humid air. He tries to transform the rasping cicada song into calm white noise. He tries to relax in his skin, which crawls against the fabric of his clothes and the sweat that dews it at all times because he has no weather-appropriate clothing. Reid’s aesthetic has never included shorts or tank tops. In Wisconsin, sweating through the warmest parts of summer was manageable.
But he can’t. He can’t and can’t. His hands out of his pockets, he shakes and shakes them out. Then he takes off toward the gates of the complex; he needs to do something, and he might as well take a positive step. With money, at least he can buy new clothes. And maybe a change of scenery will help.
Outside the complex, the sound of cars rushing past on the Overseas Highway is a welcome balm. There are few sounds and sensations he consistently likes; they shift and cycle the way he does. Since he’s been here, he’s found that the only thing that consistently calms him is the water.
Reid’s been in Shell World. It’s less than a mile south and so is one of the places Reid’s visited on his long walks.
There is tourist kitsch and then there is tourist kitsch. Shell World is kitsch on steroids. Reid likes that about it. It wears its genuine self unabashedly. Also, there are a lot of shell wind chimes, the sounds of which are soothing. Reid wonders if they might always be so, if he’ll always need soothing, if he’ll always be stuck in these cycles of never-fully-okay. He recognizes the chain of thought, but then lets it wash away. His therapist calls this skill “using Teflon mind.” He thinks it’s a pretty stupid phrase, and so do Rachel and Elise, the most consistent members of their Dialectical Behavioral Therapy group. Even Nancy, his therapist, agrees that it’s iffy. But it’s part of the program, so they all go with it.
Reid wanders the store; it’s overstocked, and the frenetically filled shelves are too close to each other and carry a dizzying array of goods. It’s a long store and, to find the register, anyone entering has to walk almost its entire length.
Manning the desk is a curvy, dark-haired girl in a tight black tank and acid-wash shorts who wears a seriously unimpressed face and the body language of the deeply bored. When she spots Reid, she plasters on the fakest smile—Reid’s impressed—and chirps, “Welcome to Shell World. Have you found what you’re looking for?”
Reid presses his lips together. He doesn’t want to seem as though he’s laughing at her.
“Well, I’m looking for Shel,” he says. “Not shells.” He tilts his head and stresses the word. Not everyone gets his humor, and often his sarcasm is read as rude. He’s learning to try to give body language cues to match his intentions, but he sucks at it.
This girl speaks irony and sarcasm like a pro, because she gets it. Her next smile is real.
She cocks a brow at him. “About a job?”
“Yes. I’m interested in applying for a job.”
“Great.” She reaches under the counter and roots around, then comes up with a job application. She yawns and hands him a pen. “Have at it, kiddo.”
“O-kay,” he says. He scoots down the counter, out of the way of any customer who might be on the hunt for a conch shell engraved with their name, and fills out the application. His square, all-capitals printing barely fits in the tiny boxes, but he gets the job done just as the doors chime a customer arrival.
“Done.” He holds it out
to her, but she doesn’t take it.
“Hey, Shel!” she shouts over her shoulder. “There’s a guy here for ya.”
Reid stifles an intense urge to roll his eyes—he doesn’t know how important to this operation Sassy Girl is—and waits patiently.
Six
The first time taking divers out on the reef is the most stressful, but rewarding, part of teaching the beginner classes. As an instructor, Joaquim must always be on. In this line of work, that means calm, friendly, confident, and enthusiastic.
On the ride out, he keeps an eye on Keith, who’s turned a little green. The waves are high with the wind, but not enough to worry about getting the students in the water at Molasses Reef. He briefed them before they boarded, but will brief them again once they’re there. On the way, though, he makes small talk with all of them. They’ll talk more on the way back, when everyone is relaxed and enjoying the sunshine and reliving the dive experience—those who liked it, of course.
Joaquim sits next to Reid, who is turned to watch the water as it jolts by and completely silent. He’s wearing one of his white swim shirts. Joaquim’s embarrassed to admit that he knows that Reid has three that he rotates. They each have distinct colored stripes at the shoulders: red, blue, and green. It’s the blue today, with coordinated swim trunks. They always coordinate.
“How’s it going?” Joaquim pitches his voice to be heard, but not to shout.
Reid flashes him a smile. “Good.”
Should he coax more out of him? He badly wants to know more about this boy. Their class is almost at an end. Often, Reid seems flirty, and his glances are definitely reciprocal, more so than when they began class. That first week, Reid vacillated between happy and anxious, and was often quiet or withdrawn by the end of the session. Joaquim doesn’t usually do the asking out when it comes to boys; he’s working on that, though. When he’s teaching, there’s no room for hesitance, and he loves sharing this world with others, teaching them and introducing them to diving. Nina’s been coaching him to carry that confidence into the rest of his life.
