When we were kids, my brother and I held underwater tea parties at the bottom of our backyard pool. We plunged headfirst toward the deepest depth, holding the bubbles in our noses, trying to preserve as much air in our lungs as possible on the way down. Before reaching the drain, the auspicious site for these gatherings, we would reverse our orientation and attempt to lower ourselves to the whitewashed concrete floor by sending the stored air out of our noses and scooping our arms through the water until we anchored. We would cross our legs and raise our hands in a grandiose wave across the pool drain that served as our tea table.
In the space of what could have only been seconds, we pantomimed our way through salutations, the sipping of tea, and the sharing of finger foods. We attempted conversation but the words, indiscriminate upon our lips, were lost altogether in the murk. Somewhere in between the sandwiches and the lemon squares, we would have each wiggled a free hand under the cap of the drain to give us some protection from the invisible forces that were doggedly fighting to pull us apart.
The first to dislodge from his perch and begin the reluctant drift upward would be grabbed by the ankle by the other and yanked back down for a last second, a final farewell. We would stare at each other through the bent light of water, our lungs burning in protest, waiting for the other to make an earnest move toward the top. Finally spent, I would kick off the floor, beating my legs in a desperate swirl as I grabbed my way toward the blue sky, and hope that we'd break the surface in unison. Sometimes we did and we'd smile through the water streaming down our faces. Other times I would slap my face underneath the water's top to see him still at the bottom, staring up at me.
I've been recalling these submerged moments lately because my life out of the water has felt a lot like those tea parties. A recent decision has sent me back to the pool floor where living under the pulverizing power of deep water makes the mere business of breathing something to consciously consider.