A Deep Dive
A deep dive. Back to surface. A slow climb out of water. Then, a jump backwards into water.
The first time you see this, you think there is something fun about it – you think ‘how playful’. You think of the sensation of water on your own back, how refreshing it must be.
A deep dive, back to the surface, then a slow climb out of the water. A backwards jump. Surely, this is what joy looks like. Others are laughing, pointing. The signs tell you what an incredible creature you are witnessing; they help you put the pieces together. This must be joy.
A dive, then surfacing. The climb. Something like a jump. It repeats; you realise something— someone is out of place, that there is no joy within this glass, between these walls and the air conditioning. Where there should be ice. Where there should be free-flowing water.
A dive. You realise that although this is the first time you are witnessing it, this is not the first time it has been repeated. You hope it will be the last. You keep hoping.
Then, surfacing. You wonder if this is the tenth time, or the hundredth. Who else has seen this? You wonder what such a playful behavior becomes when repeated one thousand times. You get lost in thought.
The climb. You catch a glimpse of the bear’s eyes; there is something between you, almost like making contact, except they are not there.
The fall. You realise they have been gone for a long time, and you wonder when they left. Where they went, where that somewhere else could be.
You ask yourself: what would it mean to walk away? Then, what would it mean to not be able to walk away? A deep dive, then back to surface.