Sea of Glass
by
Kuba Szczepanik

The water was a clear blanket of molten glass. Slowly rising and falling, small wavelets,
perfect and unbroken a sliver of light shining within each one. An almost hypnotic scene,
enticing to the unwary or the inexperienced. It was one of those odd days. Soon after a
spell of near perfect weather the sun was only barely visible and the air seemed dry,
expectant. I now believe those days to be nature's sign to keep guard, keep vigilant. A
reminder as to who is really in control, who creates change at their beckon whim. It was a
day most people spend indoors, reading or simply lazing. However, for an adventurous
nine year old nothing could be so boring. So off I went, happily acting my age at a beach.
Slouching about, pestering what few adults ventured out, likewise for siblings, poking a
stick here and there, investigating anything mildly interesting and climbing any worthwhile
trees. The clocks were passing quickly towards evening although the sky still light, as
summer days go. A very light wind was picking up and with it, my hopes for adventure
were beginning to luff. Thus far, I had considered it a poor day. My beach combing had
uncovered only a dull puffer fish, the same old shells and my search for a decent tree had
faltered amongst the tall, straight coconut trees.
I was wandering past a small secluded beach, some distance from the ramshakle huts
hunkering between a dune and the omnipresent jungle. I wondered why few came here or
swam far, when something caught my eye. Out on the water, bobbing flush with the
surface, was some sort of small crate sized object. Immediately I was fascinated. Staring
to the sea I became oblivious to my other surroundings, my young mind lost to a fantasy
of lost treasure, artifacts and pirate gold. However, the object appeared to be slowly
sinking, inch by inch into the depths. Any life it may have posessed would soon end. The
instance this became clear to me I snapped from my dreaming, my mind focused now on
only one thought. I must have this object, whatever it may be. I threw off my shirt,
strapped on my goggles and ran into the water. A capricious turn, a boy's prerogative.
The moment I entered that molten water I realised why few swam here and rarely. The
reef began abruptly, almost where the water did and for an instant my fear rose, that
quick, surprising panic which catches one but who's grasp is fleeting. I wondered why. It's
only a reef I reassured myself, like the many others I've enjoyed. What could possibly
happen? I kicked quickly and swam towards where I had seen the object. Stopping soon
after to gather my bearings, I noticed the sun had now completely disappeared and my
floating object was slipping from sight. I set off again.
After a short but rapid swim, eyes closed, reaching far ahead to grab at the water and
force it from my way, I paused. Stopping where I guessed was the correct place, the
object was not visible and I surmised it had sunk completely. I cast a glance around and
towards land. The wind had picked up to a breeze and looking towards the distant shore I
suddenly felt very alone. It was haunting out there on that reef with no sun and my
purpose for being there now in the depths, in the coral's grasp. I took a deep breath and
peered downward, searching for the object. Instantly a panic welled inside me for I had
inadvertently swum out over the reef's edge, where coral ended abruptly and the now
sandy floor fell away near vertically into an inky blackness. Places like these mark the
boundaries of our world. In this case, a few colourful sea snails stood at the ocean's
gates, grazing on the sloping sand close to where coral rose abruptly. They were of
course harmless, even cheerful and thus contrasted incredibly with the other. For as one's
gaze followed their gentle sandy slope, blessedly framed in one's goggles, the familiar
sandy seafloor quickly gave way into the darkness which so frighteningly evokes all that is
unknown. All that is only imagined and remembered piecewise from books. If only one's
immediate consciousness were more adept at separating the printed word of fact from
that of fiction and all its deepest horrors. Spinning rapidly I raced the few strokes back
onto the reef and made my best effort to suppress the panic.
Having gotten over the shock and continuing my search I began to observe the
ruggedness of the reef out here. Rarely having been out this far before it was unfamiliar to
me yet it's beauty did not go unnoticed. Farther from man's shore the reef was more alive,
larger. The coral here grew bigger, forming miniature continents or simply submerged
islands, separated by crevasses some large enough to dive into. The water was colder,
less comforting and I soon realised that despite the beauty of this quite world it was I, the
beholder, who remained the intruder. The coral mountains made me feel a lesser being,
an underling at the mercy of omnipotent, silent superiors. Yet what nine year old would
take heed such impressions? Certainly not myself.
It was inside one of the larger crevasses that I spotted the object. It was at a fair depth, a
dark brown, wooden crate, the size of a small chest. Quickly I dived trying to ignore the
coral structures passing as I sank deeper. Upon attempting to lift the chest I realised it
was caught or jammed and rapidly running out of air I kicked back up to the surface. My
objective appearing unachievable, I looked nervously to the distant shore and felt even
more alone. I shook myself in an attempt to lose the fear, sucked in a deep breath and
dived again. Quickly, I thought this time. Furiously I dived, scowling with the effort. Locking
my legs around the crate I pulled madly, caring little for what held it down, I fought to pull it
free. I pumped more into the effort, lungs screaming, desperately I tried to pull it free on
this dive. Then it came, too quickly even for the sluggish movements in water. I paddled
madly to regain balance but it was lost. Down further into the crevasse I shot and it all
rushed into my mind. The fear, the panic, the frightening forms of massive coral enclosing
me and taking my air. Kicking wildly with one leg I gashed it on the coral whilst realising
my other leg was caught. I may have screamed but of course no sound came forth. No
matter, just breathe I though, yes air, that's what I need. Water rushed into my lungs at
the same time my other leg tore free and blood clouded the water red. Scrambling to the
surface I finally reached it coughing violently with the taste of blood pervading my senses.
Spotting the shore I half swam, half ran towards it, not once daring to look down towards
that other world. I calmed slightly when swimming over the inshore reef and upon
reaching sand, I crawled up the beach and collapsed face down, heaving relief. Some
time later I sat on the grass inland from the beach staring over the water, hugging the
wounds on my legs. They would heal, no doubt and I would swim again. Yet memory is a
fickle thing and whilst hindsight may indeed be wise it remains a slave to our imperfect
minds. Memories of that crate will never leave me but I struggle to recall what went
through my mind that afternoon as the setting sun emerged, laughing ruefully at my
troubled, youthful thoughts. Every child learns in its own way, at its own pace and I was no
different. I wish to remember what I'd learned that day, what I'd resolved. Had I found a
new respect, had I thought that some things will remain secret? Or should they?
I didn't go back to that spot for a long time but naturally, eventually I did. I found it too. The
spot that is, for the mysterious crate had gone. Many moons had passed and a taller lad,
with better skills was less frightened of the coral but still, no amount of diving or sifting of
sand uncovered any trace. Like footsteps in sand that mystery had gone, forever.