Just Another Day In Paradise

The waves were not exactly cooperating as she tried to scribble in her dive book. Then again, they rarely did.

She was anchored about a mile off the coast. A dinghy and a girl just bobbing in the vast planes of blue. Tethered to land by nothing but a mostly dead radio and paper map stashed in a zip-loc bag. While finishing suiting up, Julia Rossen waved at the occasional whale-watching boats that floated by. Tourists armed with binoculars populated the entire deck, eager for their wild encounter. She laughed, tourists never seemed to disappoint in the entertainment department. Elbowed off the edge of the railing by a wife aggressively applying what looked to be a fifth layer of sunscreen, the bottle splashed down into the sea. I’ll have to grab that later, Julia sighed.

Finally, after her fins were strapped tightly around her ankles, weight belt fastened to her hips, and goggles lathered in ‘anti-fog’ - she noted the time in her dive log. The little worn yellow book full of her adventures.
7:00 am, June 8th, 2022.

Closing the book with a flourish, she stashed it back in her satchel. Tripple checked the motor was turned off and the anchor locked, before backwards rolling off the edge of her little ship. Plunging a good five feet into the Pacific’s warm waters, grinning. The feel of bubbles and salty currents never ceased to delight her. And this wasn't even the best part.

Julia resurfaced with one scissor kick of her fins. Preserving every ounce of energy possible was the first rule of free diving. One of the ‘ten commandments as her uncle had put it. He was the one to teach her about the dying world of free diving. Took her out weekend after weekend to slip down to the reefs and underwater caves. Occasionally they would take spear guns and hunt, but Julia never did this by herself.

Methodically, she began her breathing exercises. Hanging on the surface. Three breaths to two to one. Hold for a minute. Take two breaths. Hold for three. Exhale. It sounded ridiculous but her uncle swore by it. Said some rich Italian diver told him back in ‘89. Still, after her first time trying it her breath hold time nearly doubled. She remembered that day - it was the first time she’d seen a Lionfish. The little underwater polaroid she took still stuck to the rear-view mirror of her car.

Finally, when she could feel the slow beat of her own heart, she took that last breath. Swallowed it deep and let it fill her lungs. Pour through her veins and settle in every crevasse of her body. She could feel her diaphragm stretch to the max, her rib cage expanding gently. And that was it - she dove. Arched her back and fell through the water. Mermaid kicking her legs slowly and steadily. A rhythmic motion through her whole body as she plummeted. Ten feet turned to fifteen in less than forty-five seconds. The light rays were so bright and gold at the top turned deeper gold. The water is a cool cerulean blue - and just getting darker. The edges of the reef peeked through the depths. Catching the light here and there. The sandy bottom rippled like a drunken illusion. For miles and miles and miles.

Julia checked the dive meter on her wrist.
27’ / 1:24 /

Her lungs were tight but relaxed as she approached 30 feet. Her heart calm in her chest as she took in the landscape before her. Glowing red fan coral bustling with a school of parrot fish. A couple of small minnows ducking in here and there. So many types of coral she hardly knew the names of half of them. Eels slipping in and out of the dark canyons and holes. Silently. It was all silent. Nothing but the sound of her heartbeat which was muffled and infrequent.

She stole a glance back at her watch as she touched down on the bottom of the ocean. 32 feet down. Two minutes and fifteen seconds. She had about five to explore, and she didn't intend to waste a second. She pushed off, gliding over the reef. Scooped up the occasional shell that caught her eye. Waved at the fish. She was in another world entirely and it took her breath away - quite literally.

All too soon her timer buzzed. Vibrations echoed in the water as she stared up at the surface. Until next time, she said to nothing in particular. She swam over to the anchor line and grabbed it, arching upwards. Now she could feel her chest constrict. Not so kind in its request for oxygen. She broke the surface in less than a minute, making sure not to just gasp in all the air she could. But to take a slow controlled breath. Maintaining control of her body - that was very important.

Once settled in her dinghy she set off towards the beach. Motoring steady and keeping her balance when she crossed into the harbor. Head in the clouds, as per usual. She loved that reef, it could easily be her favorite. Her goal was, by the end of the year, to have her nine-minute breath hold down so she could explore the coral cave. Rumor has it there’s a mysterious box down there…

“Hey, do you have a ticket to doc here?”

Dazed, Julia looked up. Snapped back to reality from mindlessly tethering her dingy to the first empty spot she could find. She held the rope slack in her hands and stood up straight on the wobbly dock. A fisherman stood in front of her, dressed in some tattered shorts and barefoot. Fishing pole in one hand, little silver bucket in the other. Who uses a bucket and not a cooler, She thought.

“I have a permit?” She was puzzled. Ticket? And since when did anyone care who docked here? It was a public harbor…

She glanced around. Odd. All the boats were old. Collectors vessels. Were the yachts and whale-watching tours? Maybe she got the wrong harbor.

The man just huffed and waddled away, but Julia was onto something different now. How had she traveled not only off the main path but so far she didn't even recognize the harbor?

Walking a bit too fast she made her way to town. To figure out what was happening. She sloppily threw on her button-up and sandals, shouldered her backpack, and threw her hair up just as she crossed the street. Uncomfortable with how many people were staring at her.

She ducked into the nearest surf shop. Slightly disappointed when no crisp AC hit her. She marched towards the desk - but never made it.

The swimsuit was what caught her eye first. Something straight out of a fifties pin-up magazine. But worse was the chalkboard. Tacked on the wall above it, bright pink chalk scribbled all over. Surf report. Julia stepped closer, an uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. It read that the tide was low, which was wrong. She would never dive at low tide. It said that it was 85 degrees out but that morning her watch said the high would only be 70.

Julia looked to the top of the board. Above the surf report and sale offers and price markings.

The date.

At first, it was fine. Washed with relief she read the first half, June 8th. But then her eyes scanned the year and did a double take. 1952. June 8th, 1952.

“Hilarious,” She laughed out loud, approaching the checkout counter. The man looked at her a bit confused, taking a precautionary step back.

“Can I help you -” He stuttered.

“This a hidden camera show?” Julia looked up at him, leaning on the counter. Couldn't remember the last boy she’d seen with square glasses like that.

“Sorry?”

“Right - I’ll play along. What year is it?”

“1952...” He said, nervous.

Julia’s smile fell. She reached for the stack of surf magazines beside the register. Sure enough, they were all vintage-looking. Dated with some month and 1950. Cover girls in the most modest suits Julia had ever seen. Wooden boards.

She dropped the pile on the floor and ran out to the street. Slug bugs. Neon signs. Diners. Newspapers rolled up by doors -

She lunged for the nearest one. Ripping it open to the front page, breath trapped in her lungs. And as soon as she found that little bloody date stamps her stomach did a triple backflip. Chills enveloped her entire body.

She was in her town. The version of it from seventy-two years ago.