How I Woke Up In Atlantis

Lake Tahoe gleamed in the hot summer air as my family clambered onto the boat with their assorted party gear, ignoring me until the last moment when they noticed that I was still standing on the dock clutching my stuffed giraffe. I was stuck in inaction, focused on the rippling water and anxious that I couldn’t see the bottom of the lake. In my seven-year-old mind, there was a whole catalogue of monsters swimming beneath the surface, each one more terrifying than the next. I was stuck, immobile on the dock while my mom yelled and agitatedly gestured at me to get on the boat. My eyes were locked on the dark water under the dock, pitch black after a few inches. I finally looked up at my mother as she was getting back off the boat, walking sternly toward me. She scooped me up in her arms and carried me on board while my breath stuck in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes. I cried and asked her if I could stay on land. She didn’t accept this scenario, as there would be no one to watch me back at the cabin. Before I knew it, we were in the middle of the lake, where I never wanted to be again.

That wasn’t the only time something like that happened to me around deep water, just the earliest I could remember. I never really talked about it with anyone or spent much time thinking about it day-to-day. I didn’t even have a word for it until my first semester of Greek freshman year.

Thalassophobia: The fear of the ocean or other large bodies of water.

Once I learned that word, it felt as if it only got worse. Even looking at deep ocean photos in my marine biology textbook made my heart race and my palms sweaty; I always placed my hand over the photos while I read the accompanying text. Naming the anxiety, the trepidation, I had always felt when near the ocean, lake, or even a large swimming pool when I was a kid made it real, permanent. Thalassophobia had always been there, lurking, and I had done alright treading those mental waters in relative ignorance… But now I knew. It was that and my fear of abandonment, which came into being when I was four, after my parents told me I was adopted a few weeks after birth. My mother never said much, only that no one knew who my birth parents were because I was surrendered at a hospital.

These thoughts crossed my mind as I, a college senior now, stood on the soft, sandy beach staring out over the turquoise waters of St. Croix. It was shallow and clear, with dark patches here and there that were probably coral and clumps of seaweed. A few white sailboats were bobbing in the near distance, empty or at least far enough away to seem as if no one was aboard.

I was there because my newest best friend from university, Antony, was an international student from St. Croix. He had invited me to stay with his family over spring break, and it was such an honor just to be asked, that in all the excitement of leaving the country for the first time, I didn’t even think about the phobia. Didn’t really consider how that might impact my vacation as I enthusiastically told Antony ‘YES!’ that one February afternoon in the cafeteria. From then on, I was motivated, subconsciously pushing aside any worries, because I knew if I let them get in my way, I would back out of going. That wasn’t an option, as this was finally an international trip to make up for not doing study-abroad like most of my classmates the previous year.

So, here I was. On the beach, toes in the sand, hands on my hips, staring into the clear water while the gentle waves washed over the shore. It looked safe. It looked perfect.

It was terrifying.

Antony was still helping his mom clean up after breakfast. He had told me to go ahead and head down to the beach, only a few meters down a sandy boardwalk from his parent’s yard. No one was around, just me in my shorts and t-shirt staring at the exquisite, undulating water.

I sighed heavily and took a few steps forward until my toes hit the warm water. For a moment I let it lap over my feet while I stared down at the Athenian owl tattoo on my foot, kneading my toes in the wet sand and feeling the late morning sun on my neck. I took another step.

One step at a time, I wadded in up to my thighs, stood for a moment taking in the beauty and trying to relax away my anxiety with deep, slow breaths, then carefully sat down on the sandy beach floor. The water was up to my shoulders, as I sat and swayed with the motion of the sea.

I reached out to either side, hands floating in the current and felt the water on my arms. Thinking about the connectivity of all things, the ocean, the sand, and the shells, I reached down to either side of my crossed legs and scooped up two handfuls of sand, only to let the fine particles slowly strain out through my spread fingers. How could this be so scary? It was calming in a way, but only because I was ignoring the truth. The sheer amount of water out there was frightening, and it was taking every fiber of my being to stay put, and not hastily run back to shore.

The longer I sat there, the more overwhelmed I became, worrying about what was lurking beyond. It was now or never; I was either going to swim or turn around. I scooted forward, sand bunching up my shorts, and rocked forward onto my knees, swaying gently.

After a deep breath, I plunged headfirst into the water, gliding for several feet before my head broke the surface and I audibly gasped. Deep enough now that I was up to my shoulders, looking around in all directions desperately. The anxiety was getting rough, but I was determined to stay for a few moments longer.

My surroundings were stunning, and I was proud of myself for getting in this far. I smiled and squinted, looking up into the bright blue sky.

Turning slowly back and forth in the water, I was starting to feel more at peace, when suddenly something rough slid across my lower leg. My heart pounded as I looked down in the water.

There it was, hovering in between the sandy floor and the surface. A Caribbean reef shark from the looks of it. (I had done a little compulsive research before flying down here for spring break; they were the most common.) I held my breath, trying not to move, but something told me it was going to be alright, as a voice rang clear in my mind:

Do not fear

When I come near

For in this place

You are safe

I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but it was if I could hear the shark itself as it swam in circles around me, slow but steady like the surf. In that moment I felt a calm wash over me, as I focused on the dark grey mass beneath the surface. Calm enough in fact that, at first, I didn’t notice the sand eroding beneath my feet, slowly pulling me under. The mysterious voice continued its rhyme:

The time has come

To take the plunge

Return to shores

Where you were born

I noticed my legs sinking into the sand when my chin hit the surface and I took a last desperate breath. The sinking accelerated and I was pulled deep into the water, then the sand. It was closing in tight around my arms, then my shoulders, squeezing the remaining breath out of my body. I looked up, panicked, at the last minute to the underbelly of the shark before everything went black.

When I awoke, nothing was the same.

© Jasper A. Flintsmith 2021

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