The Old Diver

I wrote this story quite a while ago but never submitted it. There is no sex in this one. Merely, a short story about an old man. I hope you like it.

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Beeep...beeep...beeep...beeep, the alarm shrieked until a wrinkled arm swung around and the accompanying bony hand smashed down on the snooze button silencing the irritating sound with a loud thwack. Shit, he thought, was it time already? With effort, Abe slowly rose turning his head to stare at the clock, a pale red diode displaying 4:35 AM. Falling back, his head fitted neatly into the impression ensconced into his pillow. "Another five minutes would be nice," he murmured.

He laid there, synaptic discharges kick starting his mind back to life. He turned to look at his wife and was startled to see her side of the bed empty. Where was Sarah? It was much too early for her to be up. In his confusion, reality began to seep in. His eyes misted when he remembered Sarah was gone; his wife of forty-five years passed away six months ago. Cancer, a dealer of death, crept in and snatched her from him. Abe remembered when she complained of a sharp pain to her lower abdomen. Five weeks later his Sarah was gone. Sixty-seven when she died, Sarah left behind a grieving husband, two loving sons, two beautiful daughter-in-laws and three wonderful grandchildren. He thought of his two sons and thier families. They will do just fine he thought to himself.

Yanking off the bed sheet, Abe groaned as he swung his legs over the bed. Pushing himself up, he sighed as he sat on the edge, waiting for the blood to circulate into his legs. Standing, he shuffled into the bathroom, turned on the light and looked into the mirror. Staring back, a deeply tanned rugged face road-mapped with age lines said, "Hell...when did I get so old." He rubbed his chin with the broad fingers of his left hand feeling the bite of days old whiskers. "Nah, no need to shave today," he said to the wrinkled bit of leather wryly staring back at him. Abe wet his hands and ran them through his sparse hair dampening his scalp just enough to brush what little he had left. He smoothed out his thick silver moustache finishing by torturing his teeth and gums with that insufferable water pick his wife had forced upon him. Why he still used the damned thing, he could never understand.

Wearing a faded orange "Dive Key Largo" t-shirt and an old pair of baggy jeans over his swim trunks, Abe moved into the kitchen finding the coffee ready. "Thank God for minor modern miracles," he said and removed the pot from his beloved automatic coffee maker pouring himself a healthy portion into an oversized cup. "Doc would be having a cow right now if he saw this," Abe chuckled drinking full leaded. "No decaf today, no decaf...no way," he sang to an old tune, No Milk Today, by Herman's Hermits. Abe looked at the kitchen clock and noted the time displayed 5:13 AM. His eyes narrowed a bit; better get a move on, he thought.

He strolled into the garage and opened the dive locker staring at his gear. "My God, he whispered, "it's been awhile, some of this stuff is almost as old as I am. No wonder Sarah gave me such a hard time." He reached in and, with a little effort, removed his dive bag placing it on the garage floor. Opening the bag, he mentally checked off his list of equipment.

Abe hooked his regulator to the valve of the aluminum SCUBA tank, turning the knob and hearing the satisfying hiss of air passing into the hoses. Holding the pressure gauge, he noted the tank held 3000 pounds of pressurized air. More than I'm ever gonna need, he thought. Once done, he shut down the valve emptying the hoses of compressed air. Throwing his gear into the back of the truck, Abe grabbed another cup of coffee before keying the ignition. With a rumble, the engine kicked over and he slowly backed out of the driveway. Before driving off, Abe paused and stared at the house, remembering the many years he and Sarah lived there, the memories hidden within the walls of lathe and plaster. No more, he thought, those days are gone. "My God, Sarah...I miss you so much," he cried softly, wiping the tears of those memories from his cheek. Gritting his teeth, Abe jammed the truck into drive and drove away toward his final destination, Shaw's Cove, Laguna Beach.

As Abe drove south through Santa Ana, his mind was stuck in idle thinking of his wife. A smile crept across his face remembering the first time he saw her. Working the front desk, the wife of one of his employees, Carol Davis, waltzed in asking for her husband. While he sent word for Jim, Abe saw another girl with waist length soft brown hair, obviously with Jim's wife, step around the corner of the open door. The moment he looked into those brilliant green eyes, he was hopelessly lost. Six months later, he and Sarah were married. Forty-five wonderful years became silent witnesses to their life together. But, Abe realized, there comes a time when the curtain must fall.

As Abe turned onto Cliff Drive, the sky was still a sullen gray from the morning marine layer still holding the Sun hostage. He was pleased when he noticed an abundance of parking available close to Shaw's Cove entrance. Twenty minutes later, standing in full diving regalia by the steps down to the cove, Abe paused to watch an attractive young woman jog past with an abnormally huge black lab, her blond ponytail in sync with the dogs, both swinging side to side with each step. As she passed, he saw her glance at him. With amusement, Abe speculated what she must have thought when she saw him. An old frazzled looking diver with a tattered wetsuit and antique gear standing next to the entrance to Shaw's Cove watching a pretty girl run by.

"You would be right, Miss...I'm nothing more than an old dinosaur with an eye for beauty," he mused. As he descended the steps, thirty-five pounds of equipment tugging him down, he heard the roar of the waves pounding the beach. Nearly ten minutes later, he finally arrived at the bottom gasping for breath. He shook his head and laughed, "Christ...in earlier days those steps would have taken, at the most, maybe a couple of minutes." He bent forward at the waist, balancing the weight of his equipment, trying to catch his breath while he watched the hammering surf. Closing his eyes for a few seconds, he smiled tasting the salt air and hearing the crashing surf and the cries of hungry gulls. He sighed, remembering the countless times he has performed this ritual. Eyes back on the beach, he counted the battering waves to determine the lull period for his entry. "Not a good day to dive," he muttered, "should be exciting."

Abe heard a faint sound to his left. He turned observing a man in his late twenties, wearing a white terry cloth bathrobe, standing on the balcony of his home overlooking the cove. His blond hair was tousled, his piercing blue eyes locked on Abe's. The young man held a black cup in his right hand and raised it toward Abe in acknowledgment. Abe nodded turning back to the surf and shuffled his way toward the water's edge.

Watching for the lull, he spit into his mask, his fingertips rubbing the spittle onto the glass. He smiled recalling how his wife hated that little routine. "Abe, that's so nasty, why do you always have to do that?" she would ask and, in return, he would simply look at her and grin. With a thunderous whoosh, a large wave smashed onto the beach breaking Abe from his reverie. Now, he thought. He placed his fins on the sand sliding his neoprene boots into them. He reached down straining to secure the straps. As he pulled his mask over his face, Abe failed to hear any breaking surf and looking up saw the calm between sets. Before another set of waves developed, Abe quickly turned and duck-walked backward entering the water. When he was waist high, he could feel the tug of the surrounding ocean and knew a new set was coming. He turned to face the breakers and could see a watery mountain building just beyond. Face down, he jammed the snorkel into his mouth and began kicking his fins as fast as he possibly could, hoping to beat the developing set before it could pummel him. Thank you Jesus, he thought as the murky liquid wall rolled over him breaking two yards behind.

Fifty yards out, Abe stopped and rested sucking in huge gulps of air. "Man, I am too damned old for this," he wheezed. Catching his breath, Abe could see the young man on the balcony, the cup still in his grasp. The young man raised his cup once more and Abe returned with a brief wave. Sighing, he once more thought of Sarah before grabbing the hose of his bouncy compensator and pressing the deflator button. A dramatic hiss of air exploded from the release vents causing the vest to quickly deflate. Seconds later Abe disappeared beneath the surface, the whisper of bubbles denoting his final descent.

~

The young man stood on his terrace, gazing out at the ocean while lazily sipping his hot coffee. He watched the old man in the worn diving rig walk down to the beach and, ultimately, into the surf.

He remembered the diver glancing up at him after coming down the steps and the young man raised his cup in recognition. His balcony was just above the landing platform of the steps allowing him to look into the old man's eyes. He had seen that look only once before from his father, just before he died.

The young man believed the old diver to be in his mid to late seventies and, in reflection, could see the man knew his stuff; the old diver timed his entry perfectly through the surf line and past the next set of large breakers. He watched the diver move into open water, turn and look in his direction. He raised his cup one final time, the old man giving a quick wave before vanishing beneath the water.

He watched as the diver's bubbles briefly disturbed the surface before fading away. When all evidence of the old diver disappeared, the young man turned away and walked inside.