The depths of trust

I gave one last glance over at Noelle, my dive buddy, and gave her the OK signal - a closed fist above my head. It was time. I put my hand over my regulator in my mouth, holding it in place, and took a giant stride into the water off the back of the catamaran. The moment I hit the crystal-clear water, a surge of adrenaline rushed through me. The ocean engulfed me, pulling me into its depths for my final dive before obtaining my Junior Master Scuba Diving license. I was ready. Or so I thought.

With only two days left in the Caribbean, I couldn’t believe how close I had become with people I’d never imagined meeting. Fourteen of us had been living on a catamaran for three weeks, sharing every moment, scuba diving, snorkeling, sailing, and exploring the hidden gems of the Caribbean islands. Noelle and I were fortunate and had earned multiple scuba certifications before the trip. This meant that we often dove alone together, separate from the group. 

The first thing that caught my eye about Noelle was her cropped brown pixie cut and that wide, infectious smile that seemed to take over her entire face. It radiated so much energy, and quite frankly, I found it a little intimidating. I’m not typically someone who usually shows a lot of emotion, especially around new people. But there was something about Noelle that instantly pulled me in. Maybe it was our shared love of scuba diving, or perhaps it was her easygoing, welcoming presence. Her energy was impossible to resist, and even in the most serious moments, she knew how to lighten the mood with her quirky humor. At first, the idea of being so far from anyone else underwater felt nerve-wracking. But as the days passed, we developed an unspoken bond, a deep trust that comes from knowing you’re responsible for each other’s lives if anything goes awry. In those quiet moments underwater, we weren’t just dive buddies, we were lifelines.

As we descended into the ocean, I could feel the weight of the water pressing in around me, its vastness both comforting and disorienting. The rhythmic sound of my breathing filled my ears, in and out, bubbles trailing upward toward the light. Below me, the jagged shapes of the reef began to come into focus, a hidden world brimming with life. Schools of colorful fish darted between coral formations, oblivious to the significance of this moment for me. 

I glanced again at Noelle, a reassuring presence in the underwater silence. We had done this many times before, but something about today felt different. Unease gnawed at me, something was wrong that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. As we descended deeper and deeper, closer and closer to 130 feet underwater, the water pressed against me like a weight I’d never felt before, reminding me that I was far from the air above. While this had not bothered me in the past, something about this moment made me feel uneasy. 

In an attempt to calm the flutter of nerves creeping in, I instinctively did my familiar routine. I double-checked my weights, making sure they were secure. Then I adjusted my buoyancy, feeling the subtle shift in control as I hovered effortlessly in the water. This ritual had always been my anchor, the small, precise actions reminding me that I knew what I was doing. I had done this countless times before. Each adjustment offered a sense of comfort, like muscle memory kicking in, reassuring me that I still had control over my own experience.

As we descended deeper, the pressure in my mouth grew almost unbearable, radiating throughout my entire body. I didn’t know what was going on, but something was wrong. Then, without warning, I felt a sharp, painful pop, and pain surged through my mouth, wincing in surprise. “What the hell was that?” I thought, panic starting to creep in. I locked eyes with Noelle, who immediately sensed something was wrong. She knew I was panicking, but I couldn’t communicate with her why. In my mind, I was cursing my luck and my genetics. I had crowns put on four of my teeth at a young age as I was born with terrible dental issues, and to my luck, I had complications now. I had no idea what to do. 

I could feel the crown floating around in my mouth, terrified to take another breath in case I accidentally swallowed it. I hadn’t ever prepared for something like this to happen, nonetheless 130 feet underwater in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. I signaled to Noelle, indicating that something was wrong, and took a second to get my bearings. I felt like a disappointment. We were so close to achieving a license that only 2% of divers ever obtain, and now, in our final dive, I was faced with a challenge I hadn't prepared for. In this critical moment, I had no choice but to put my complete trust in Noelle, relying on her expertise and our friendship to guide us safely to the surface.

At this point, I still hadn’t taken another full breath, terrified of choking so deep underwater and the potential of having to make an emergency ascent. But the thought of making that ascent only worsened my anxiety, given the risk of decompression sickness, or the bends. I took short, shallow breaths, trying to keep the crown in my mouth and out of my throat. But each shallow inhale only worried me more as I knew I was burning through my oxygen supply at a dangerous rate. 

Noelle gave me the signal to ascend, looking at me with confusion and worry in her eyes. I managed to give her the OK signal. Even though I felt terrible for ending our dive early, I was a complete bundle of nerves. We slowly began to make our way closer to the surface, our hands gripping each other for reassurance as we slowly added more air to our BCDs. As we neared the surface, around 20 feet underwater, Noelle halted us for a safety stop. The realization of needing to pause again only intensified my desire to break the surface and rip the regulator out of my mouth. Yet, at the same time, I was so grateful for Noelle’s presence, someone that I had grown to love and trust. While I was still scared, having her with me calmed my nerves, at least a little bit. I had never been one to easily trust others and let go of some of my independence, but in this moment, I knew I needed her. I couldn’t do this on my own. 

Noelle glanced at her dive watch, counting down the minutes we had left of our safety stop. Five minutes of shallow breathing and the sun beaming through the water above us only made me want to get up to the surface sooner. But I knew I had to trust her, my lifeline in this stressful circumstance.

Minutes later, Noelle locked eyes with me and I could see her face light up, a smile trying to form around her regulator. We could finally go up to the surface. 

As soon as I felt the fresh air on my face I yanked my regulator from my mouth and immediately spit the crown out without a second thought. I didn’t care what happened to it, I just wanted it gone. I finally took a deep breath, relief flooding my body. I watched the shiny piece of metal slowly sink down into the depths of the ocean, a symbol of the stress I was leaving behind. I looked up at Noelle with a huge grin across my face, and I could feel tears starting to well up in the corners of my eyes. I wasn’t sure if they were from fear or joy, but in that moment, all I knew was that I had trusted her completely, and because of that trust, I had made it through.