A New Life - 4. Chapter 4: Shared Moment

Blake tried to stop his hand from trembling as he shovelled another spoonful of muesli into his mouth. He chewed it so intently it made his jaw ache.

On his other hand he was rhythmically tapping his thumb against the edge of each finger in turn. Six to eight taps from the pad of his thumb onto the side of the tip of each finger, just on the edge of the nail. As he did this he mumbled a repetitive statement aloud but softly.

“Even though I hate this shirt, I’m still going to go to work today.”

Next finger.

“Even though I hate this shirt, I’m still going to go to work today.”

And so on.

He had woken up well ahead of the time he needed to walk the short distance to work. He wanted to be early for his first day. However, this was looking more doubtful, as he had already wasted too much time with the new uniform. He hadn’t had to wear a uniform before, so he had underestimated how upsetting it might be. To be forced to wear something that he hated.

Having wasted so much time, he was now eating breakfast and doing his exercises at the same time. Repeating positive statements, rhythmically tapping is fingers.

The points on the fingers were supposed to be significant ‘energy set points’, but Blake wasn’t into ‘spooky’ or ‘magic’ stuff. The technique worked for him, but so far as he could figure all it really did was bring his awareness back to his body. To the here and now.

It required a level of concentration to tap his fingers in this pattern and to focus on a positive statement repeatedly. While he was doing those things simultaneously it was harder for the critical voice inside his head to mouth its poison. Harder to stay trapped in that state of pain and self loathing. Easier to be here and now, sitting at the tiny table in his kitchen/lounge eating muesli. Convinced he was feeling ‘okay’ about his first day at work.

This morning it wasn’t doing him any good though. So, he finished the last of his breakfast, kicking back from his chair to get the mirror. He lifted it onto the sofa again and checked his reflection once more.

The shirt was just awful. It covered his arms right down to the elbow so it hid his biceps showing only his forearms which were too thin and this made him look ... wrong.

‘That’s not the shirt’s fault, it’s your arms that are the problem’ the inner critic told him.

He felt hot burning shame that brought such intense pain inside his chest that he felt the corners of his eyes begin to sting with new tears. He gasped for breath and gritted his teeth trying to suffocate that awful feeling. Stuff it back down to regain control.

Back to the mirror.

The shirt had no shape either, seeming to hang too loose across his chest because of too much pattern and logo, hiding his chest definition, but then it was plain white across the waist line. Looking too tight. He shouldn’t have insisted on the medium. It made him look fat.

‘That’s because you are fat’ it told him this time.

He felt nauseas now, short of breath and aching. He was lifting his shirt to check. Was he fat? He had worked hard to get something of a six pack, but his stomach still stuck out a bit now he looked at it more closely. He stood to the side now, lifting and lowering the shirt, pulling back his shoulders and then slouching, trying to get a full range. Maybe he had put on weight? When he stood tall he still had stomach definition, but it bunched up when he slouched. Was that normal? It looked disgusting. It looked wrong. He must have put on weight.

He briefly searched for his scales, but then remembered he hadn’t brought them. He had discussed that with his psych and they had agreed the scales would stay in Sydney. They were never helpful really. But now he was without any way to check and the unknown seemed worse than knowing bad news.

Back to the mirror.

But then up to the clock.

Work started in thirty minutes. Breathing instantly became faster, although he seemed short of breath at the same time. His heart was racing, faster and faster and his whole body began to tremble slightly.

No good, no good, this shirt was no good.

Back to the mirror.

Maybe if he had different shorts on? There was only the polo shirt to the uniform, not shorts so he could take his pick. He had brought three pairs of board shorts from the dozens he had thrown away. Maybe he could hide his defectiveness with a different pair?

The white ones were out. No way he would ever wear those with the way the polo’s bottom half was white. White on white just showed up his disgusting body even more.

‘You can’t hide when you’re in a wet suite anyway’ the inner critic told him.

And he was wild now. Panting, pacing about the room hands in his hair, making little sobbing noises as he began to cry. He felt the panic fully take hold.

It wasn’t just the shirt now, his face looked pale and clammy, sweet all over his brow, streaming down his temples. Everything about his reflection looked sickening. Nothing looked right. Shaking, gasping and now weakness began to set in. He stopped pacing.

Back to the mirror.

Blue shorts or brown? The brown shorts had a thicker band around the waist. It held the polo shirt out a bit, away from his stomach and gave him a looser fit. He could hide himself that way. At least by a few millimetres, which seemed better than nothing to his irrational mind.

He made a dash across the room to retrieve the previously discarded brown board shorts and in doing so he kicked his toe against the edge of the chair leg. He howled in pain and frustration and then collapsed onto the sofa choking back sobs and grabbing at his toe.

He was next to, but not in front of the mirror now.

The pain was unpleasant, but it distracted him long enough to allow him to realise what was happening. A panic attack. His head began to clear now and he knew what he had to do. He quickly stood and picked up the mirror with his eyes closed, managing to slip it behind the sofa and against the wall.

The mirror was out of sight now. He was not going to look at it again.

He sat back down and focused on controlling his breathing. Deep breath in, counting four seconds. Slow breath out, counting eight seconds.

He needed to check the clock in a minute so he could get to work on time, but before he did so, he needed to remind himself to remain calm. He didn’t need to be early to work. On time would do. Even late would do rather than not at all, or on time and in a state of total mania.

Slowly he opened his eyes. He had 17 minutes. That was enough. He’d put the brown board shorts on and they would do. It was only a short walk to the shop and he only had to gather his things to get ready. He could spend another five minutes or so calming down and still be on time.

Tapping through his fingers again, thumb on index finger through to pinkie. Six to eight taps per finger.

“Even though I hate how I look, I’m going to be okay,” he whispered allowed.

Next finger.

“Even though I hate how I look, I’m going to be okay.”

And so on.

***

Blake arrived at the dive shop at 7.30 am, exactly on time.

To his surprise and relief though, he was the first to get there. Tardiness normally annoyed him, but he was grateful for the extra time alone. He used it to keep himself together. To calm down more from his panic attack earlier.

The summer sun had risen well and truly by now and its bright orange hue threw brilliant light across the bay. Unfortunately, it also made the glass windows of the dive shop reflective. Blake was trying hard to avert his eyes from the plate glass while he waited outside. He could tell the tinted glass would act like a mirror and it would do him no good to catch sight of his reflection. Experience had taught him that he had to avoid all reflective surfaces for a day at least.

After another five minutes or so of waiting Jill arrived. She wasn’t stressed or hyperactive like yesterday. Instead she moved slowly and calmly sipping at an over sized coffee mug.

“Oh hi there,” she said, only noticing him when she almost tripped over him and his diving gear.

“M-moring,” he choked, his horse voice catching.

His throat was still feeling thick and sore from earlier that morning.

“Why are you here so early?” she asked, blinking slowly.

“Um, you said 7.30?” he replied, sounding a little more tense than he meant to.

“Oh yeah, I was a bit stressed yesterday and was ... kinda ... banking on you being late ... sorry,” she smiled almost timidly. “You only really need to get here this early if you’re opening shop. I usually do that but.”

She was relaxed today, voice light and playful in comparison to yesterday.

Blake was just relieved that he had gotten to work at all, let alone before his boss, so he wasn’t annoyed at her for not telling him this yesterday.

She fished out her keys and let them both inside. She then explained that the tourists were told to be there by 8am, with the idea being that they would be late. People on holidays were often late. By the time the stragglers got there and were fitted with any gear they needed, the real aim was to get them on the boat before 9am. It didn’t really matter if they were a bit late, but there was more chance of bad weather later in the day.

“So there’s more chance of rain in the afternoon then?” he asked curious.

“Not likely!” she laughed, “the wind just picks up in the arvo and makes it a bit unpleasant to be out on the water. It never really rains in Kulibari Bay. Well, sometimes, if there is a cyclone, but we’d know then and would’ve cancelled the day before. Cyclones take ages to get here from up north. You always know well ahead of time if one’s coming,” she told him.

Blake followed her about as she ran him through opening the store of a morning. Showed him the locks to unlock, the doors and windows to open, the lights to turn on and how to power up the register and credit card machine. He found himself grateful for the distraction, knowing he would be worse off if left alone with his thoughts. He was still a little fragile but getting it together now.

“I think for today I will just pair you with Nats or Haze,” she said absently, once she had taken him through everything she could think of for the time being.

Blake’s ears perked up nervously at the mention of Haze’s name. With all the morning’s drama he had forgotten about him, though his amazing blue eyes had occupied most of Blake’s thoughts and dreams the night before.

“You won’t know the dive sites, or the boat, or anything really, so I think its best that you just follow one of them,” she thought aloud. “I want you underwater but, so you can start to learn the sites. You can bring up the rear, and make sure none of the tourists get lost following Haze or Nats,” she explained.

Just then, Nats arrived, looking a little too tired or perhaps under the weather or hung-over. Bloodshot eyes blinked at them and a gravelly voice greeted, “morning,” somewhat reluctantly.

“Big night Nats?” Jill inquired, one eye arching.

The freckled girl poked out her tongue in response, but then noticeably brightened upon seeing Blake.

“Hi Blake!” she beamed. It was a friendly expression, not the predatory look she had given him the night before.

“You wanna dive or skipper?” Jill asked her.

Nats turned back to Jill and thought for a moment, before answering. “Dive, Blake here is going to need my valuable expertise.” She said it in a funny voice and then winked at him. He laughed, remembering now why he had grown to like her so quickly the day before.

They chatted for a bit, idly waiting for the tourists to arrive. She told him about her friends and what they got up to last night and he for the most part just listened. He was bursting to tell her about Haze and the remainder of his night, but he didn’t feel it was right to do so. Haze had seemed pretty intent on keeping it all a secret.

As they chatted, Blake noticed the young man in question arrive, stalking in from the backdoor and over to where Jill was. He gave a brief greeting to the room, turning towards them as he did this, but not even looking at Blake.

Blake’s green eyes fell dejectedly to the floor, surprised at how hurt he felt at being ignored. He was a little raw this morning, to be sure, but after helping Haze out last night he thought the least he could do was say ‘hello’. He pretended not to notice Haze’s behaviour though and he carried on his conversation with Nats.

“You’re skipper today Haze,” he heard Jill tell him.

“Where’s Matt?” Haze asked, seeming a little put out by what she said.

“Day-off.”

Haze grunted a response and then started going about gathering things for the day. He seemed exactly like he had been the day before, at the shop. Pleasant enough if a little quiet, but detached and expressionless. Not quiet cold, but distant. Completely unlike the person Blake had encountered last night after the bar.

“So how about you?” Nats finally asked after having exhausted all her stories, “did you get home alright? Did you remember the map okay?”

They were leaning against the counter side by side and he had been watching Haze when she said this. He noticed that Haze stopped fiddling with the equipment spread out on the floor in front of him and became motionless. Blake figured he was listening to them, and decided to test his theory.

“Well ... actually,” he began, watching out the corner of his eye as the boy stiffened suddenly, turning to glare at him.

“I stepped on a lizard or something and I screamed so loud I’m, surprised you didn’t hear me from all the way back at the bar,” he joked, pretending not to notice Haze’s glare, but satisfied at the reaction all the same.

Nats hooted loud with laughter and Blake took the moment’s distraction to risk a glance at Haze. The other boy was ignoring them again, back to what he was doing. Blake still smiled smugly to himself.

The tourists began to arrive and Nats showed Blake how to get them fitted into the shop-hired wetsuits, BCs, fins and masks. Haze loaded the trailer with air tanks and other gear with the help of Jill and Carlos. Carlos was manning the shop today. Although there was no formal roster, everyone took turns doing different things and it was his turn to stay on land.

Blake helped where he could although for the most part he just watched and listened. Jill gave a quick talk to the tourists, explaining what was going to happen and then everyone piled into the van.

Haze drove them the few minutes to the jetty, skilfully backing the large van and the trailer it was towing as close as possible to the boat. Everyone got out, and helped carry equipment from the trailer and pass it down to others on the boat.

The boat was about 20 metres long, with most of the deck being undercover. There was a small second story for the skipper with a viewing area for the tourist too. Underneath was a small cabin and a marine toilet. There were benches along the sides, behind which air cylinders could be stowed. There was also space along the underside of the roof for bags and towels and other things that needed to be kept dry and out of the way. A good sized table was in the centre of the main deck.

Once everyone was aboard, Jill introduced the crew and explained safety procedures, how to find and put on a life jacket and the other rules of the boat. Blake was furiously listening and trying to remember everything that was being said himself in case any of the tourists asked him a question.

Soon they were off, and with an hour or so until they reached the first dive site, Blake followed Nats to the front of the boat to relax and enjoy the atmosphere. The day was warm and the wind calm, a glorious day to be out on the water.

Nats had already dumped her polo and laid herself out on the uncovered bench at the bow to soak up some sun in her bikini. Blake was wary of getting too much sun without building up a bit of a tan first. His skin had a habit of getting burnt easily when it was this white. That would lead to peeling, which would later lead to obsessing over his skin in the mirror for hours. However, he also felt too self-conscious this morning to take off his shirt.

He noticed Haze sat above and behind them on the second floor. He was slouched on a weathered looking plastic stool, one hand on the steering wheel with his feet up on the railing. He was wearing dark sunnies and a cap, so Blake couldn’t tell where he was looking, but with the roar of the engines he knew he was in no danger of being overheard. This was good, because he wanted to quiz Nats a bit more on Haze, particularly about his father. Without being too obvious, of course.

He asked her about skippering the boat and she told him he would need to learn how first. He asked her about whether she could and she told him that she could now, finally, although it took her a while to learn.

“I’m still not very good at it,” she confessed, “Matt is the best skipper, him and Haze.”

Blake seized on the mention of Haze.

“Guess living here, Haze’s dad would’ve got him his boat licence by the time he was 12,” he commented, trying to sound casual, though in fact he was ‘fishing’.

It was a lawyer trick he would often use with difficult clients or in negotiations with other lawyers. Casually toss out a guess into conversation, something you want confirmed. He was asking about whether Haze actually had a father without really asking anything at all.

“Ha, yeah ... but Haze never knew his dad so it must’ve been his mum,” she replied.

Bingo.

“I thought you said Haze’s parents practically owned the town?” Blake asked innocently.

“Well his mum does, but Haze’s dad has never been on the scene, he died when Haze was very young. Or at least that’s what people round here say.”

They fell silent after this exchange, content to bask in the sun. Blake couldn’t believe that this was his job now. Being out on the water on a spectacular day, getting a tan.

He began pondering on the events of last night. The drunken man had definitely called Haze his ‘son’ and he seemed to know his name too. Possibly he was lying or deluded, but if that was the case why would Haze care? Why not just ignore the man? Write him off as a lunatic? Why help him out? More importantly, why be so afraid that someone would see him helping the man out? Why did Haze get so angry when Blake called the man his ‘dad’ and why tell him not to say that to anyone?

It didn’t really add up, Blake decided. Whether or not the drunken man had been Haze’s allegedly deceased father, Haze was definitely hiding something.

After another fifteen minutes or so Jill interrupted them.

“Time to get ready guys,” she announced.

Nats groaned in complaint and the two of them headed out back to help the tourists get themselves ready. There were seven divers today, with the other five, their girlfriends or wives mainly, just enjoying a day out on the water. Although they were all reasonably experienced divers there were the inevitable mistakes. Regulators on the wrong side, BCs not done up properly or air tanks too high or low or not fastened right.

Once it was time for Blake himself to get ready it occurred to him suddenly that he would have to change into his wet suit now. He had brought his own wetsuit, which was lighter and better quality than the store-hired suits. Obviously it had already passed his self assessment process, but he still felt very self-conscious at the idea of undressing and suiting up in front of everyone.

This didn’t make much sense since he wore less to the beach on other days, but after his problems this morning he was feeling too embarrassed about himself to change in the open.

He made for the small cabin quickly, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Once inside he shut the door, but then stopped. There was a wall to floor mirror on the back of the door and he quickly found himself averting his eyes.

He really couldn’t do this right now.

It was tempting though. Even in that brief instant he thought he saw something about his hair that needed 'checking'. But that was how it started. How it always started. 'Checking one thing’ never ended with just that one thing.

A hand trembled, but he stopped it by grabbing it with his other hand. He then quickly shucked off his shirt and board shorts and began the struggle to get into his wetsuit. They were always tricky to get on and it distracted him from his near miss with the mirror.

Once suited up he joined the gathering on deck around the table and listened as Jill gave the tourists a dive briefing. She covered the water conditions, the depth they would be diving to, the layout of the dive site, what they might see and who was paring up with whom. Jill was looking after the three less experienced divers and Nats and Blake would take care of the other four.

Suited up in all that equipment in the tropical heat was uncomfortable and Blake was grateful when he finally entered the water. Nats took charge and he simply followed, bringing up the rear in case any tourist wandered too far from the group. They were pretty experienced so it wasn’t really necessary.

Once they were underwater Blake felt a familiar satisfaction and joy wash over him. There was simply nothing on this earth that gave him as much peace as the weightless sense of floating beneath the waves. It was like flying, he had always thought, except underwater. He could swim forward or back, left or right and up or down. Any direction he liked. Though weighed down by a lot of equipment, diving had always made him feel free and unencumbered.

“If you could be anywhere else in the world right now where would you be?” he recalled his psychiatrist asking him, on his visit to see Blake in the hospital a couple of months ago.

Thinking back, Blake couldn’t remember much about his time in the hospital. He had felt sick and weak, but worse than the physical pain was the suffocating depression. An all-encompassing blackness that had shut down his mind and his senses. He hadn’t even wanted to get better. He remembered just laying there thinking that if things had turned out a little differently, he wouldn’t be feeling so bad. Wouldn’t be feeling anything. Ever again.

But the question had somehow got through to him and he remembered smiling and answering almost instantaneously. Diving. If he could’ve chosen anywhere else to be right then he would’ve chosen to be under the water in a tropical paradise. Diving on a coral reef.

And now here he was.

He had dived on many reefs, but was happy to find Kulibari’s to be among the best. The water was pristine and the sun was bright, making for excellent visibility. The reef teamed with all sorts of corals, fish, crustaceans, starfish and anemones. Everywhere you looked there was colour and beauty.

Blake had to keep reminding himself to watch the tourists and not the fish. He wasn’t on holiday this time, he had a job to do. But he still kept an eye out for anything of particular interest to point out. Most tourists love seeing sharks and turtles in particular, but others would appreciate a rare fish or nudibranch.

He helped Nats keep them all together and signalled every now and then for others to give him an indication of their air supply. The dive was shallow, about twelve meters at most, but the current was strong and it required a bit of effort to keep from drifting. All this meant the tourists went through their air a little too quickly, making for a short dive.

They returned to the surface, and although he was always disappointed to leave, he found himself cured of his earlier malaise. He was happy and smiling as they helped the tourists back onboard and prepared the boat to leave for its next location.

In between sites, Blake helped Nats and Jill serve lunch to the tourists. They helped themselves to some as well, with Nats running a plate up to Haze, to eat while he skippered. They chatted together and relaxed for a bit before cleaning up and preparing for the second dive of the day.

There were only two dives per day. Due to the stress on the body from the water pressure this was not unusual. With shallow dives such as these though, you could probably do more dives safely, but two per day was how Jill operated her tours.

After the second dive, with all of the tourists changed back into their clothes and the hired gear gathered into plastic tubs, Blake snuck off again to change discretely. He was feeling much better after a day’s diving and much more confident. But his clothes were in the cabin anyway, so he went to change in there.

While he was in the cabin, he felt the boat lurch and heard some shouts of excitement from outside. He quickly finished changing and came out on deck to see everyone gathered on one side of the boat.

There was a large pod of dolphins on the port side, rounding up a ball of bait fish. There must have been a couple of dozen of them, and he could see them clearly in the aqua clear water. It was a magnificent sight and he felt his mood soar even higher.

He couldn’t quite see them properly, being behind everyone else, so he climbed up to the second floor to get a better view. However, once he was up there he saw Haze, and found himself watching the young man instead.

Haze was half standing on his chair, to get a better view, while he skilfully steered the boat towards the dolphins, careful to keep enough of a distance so as not to disturb them.

Blake found Haze fascinating to watch on any occasion, but right now he found him utterly enthralling. What really stood out was his amazing smile. Instead of his usually polite, but controlled expression, Haze was smiling freely. Genuinely. He was flashing his pearly white teeth and even chuckling a little, whenever the tourists gave a collective gasp at the view. His face was alive with excitement and pleasure. He was lost in the moment, completely at ease.

Right at that moment, Blake found him to be the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. It made his head spin and his chest ache, but in a good way. In a way that had Blake smiling too.

This was why Haze worked in a dive shop, despite his mother being so wealthy. He did it because he loved it, because he was passionate about it. Blake could tell and he felt a strong empathy for the other boy.

He had been staring too long though and suddenly their eyes were locked on each other’s as Haze turned his head. Blake was so mortified that he forgot to look away, but instead it was Haze who shied away. He looked down at his feet, trying to frown, but it came out looking more like a cranky smirk as he struggled to contain himself.

It was as if their roles had been reversed and it was Haze who had been caught out.

But then Blake realised that he had caught him out. He had caught Haze in an unguarded moment, shamelessly experiencing happiness and excitement. Haze was not the sort to show his feelings. Blake had figured that out the first time they met. Haze was secretive and it would embarrass him to be seen this way. For him it must be like being caught naked.

Blake didn’t want that. He didn’t want Haze to feel ashamed when he was at his most beautiful. It wasn’t right. So, forgetting about his own insecurities for a moment, he dashed to the railing beside the blue-eyed boy and laughed warmly and openly at the sight before them.

He wanted to show Haze that he was excited and happy too. Partly, because it was true, but also to show Haze that it was okay to be awed by nature’s display. There was nothing wrong with that, with feeling those sorts of feelings. There was nothing wrong with showing them either, or sharing them with others.

When he glanced around again, he found Haze smiling back at him and he knew he had succeeded. Maybe not entirely, it was not as open or broad a smile as it had been before, but neither was it as restrained. It was a new smile, not quiet showing teeth, but not fake or distant either. Most importantly it was for him, for Blake, and for no one else.

It didn’t last long. Haze had to pull his attention back to steering the boat.

But Blake saw it. He saw it clearly and he liked this new smile. He liked it a lot.