Even into the darker blue, the Gulf waters felt too hot. Surely there’s a cold spot somewhere, I thought. I wanted to swim out further to find that magic place, but I needed a spotter. I came with three of my favorite fellas, but they were gathered around our table for the day, too far to yell, “Get in here!”
Spinning slowly as I tread the water, I spy a guy with diving goggles on. I paddle up to him, “Hey, I was just coming to get you…”
“Yeah, I saw you were diving. Wanna go out further?”
“But I can’t touch the ground…”
“That’s okay. Me neither.”
He makes like he wants to leave, but my one-minded state won’t let him. I tell him, “Just 10 more meters, nothing scary…”
“30 more feet?”
We both dive to the bottom. I can see his white long-sleeved top to my right. Below us are lovely, wavy patterns drawn onto pale beige sand. I surface. So does he.
“I’m Von,” I finally introduce.
“Jordan. Are we close to the sandbar?”
I laugh, “Hardly.”
“Let’s look for starfish.”
We continue diving and surfacing to no avail. It feels as if the water’s getting hotter. My new pal complains of the heat. I could use a non-salty drink anyways. Jordan and I reach his floating commune, which turned out to be local relatives; he is visiting from South Florida.
“Yeah it sucks down there,” Jordan laments.
I float onto my back as I pull Speedo suction cups from my eyes, while singing,
“The West Coast is the Best Coast…”