Here we go.

The cage is lowered. The weights on our belts keep us from floating as nature intended us to, and a few seconds later, we’re under. My heart pounds and my ears are filled with whooshing.

I hate this. Fucking hate it.

I don’t realize my eyes are closed until I feel pressure on my knee and open them. Sarah’s hair floats around her like bronze rays in a glowing turquoise heaven. The pressure is her hand on me. Reluctantly, I let go of the bars. She gives me a thumbs-up. I return the gesture, but I don’t feel thumbs-up.

Can’t talk down here either. Hate it.

She points behind me, and I spin as fast as I can with the water resistance. A shark is heading right for us. It twists to avoid the cage, brushing us as it goes by, one eye staring balefully at us. We’re both thrown off balance, but I manage to grab my wife to keep her from falling.

Thumbs-up. She’s fine. I feel as if I’m suffocating. In the momentary drama, I’ve forgotten to breathe through my mouth.

I’m fine. We’re okay.

Sarah points toward another, smaller shark. And another. We’re surrounded by them, big and small. I can’t see her face, but I feel her delight. She holds up her palms. She keeps her hands to herself, but I can tell how much she wants to touch them.

A school of tiny, bright orange fish comes our way, through the bars, to the other side, separating us with ribbons of shiny fish. To them, we are neither food nor threat. We don’t even exist.

Through the orange bombardment, she grabs my hand, knotting our fingers together.

She’s with me. It’s all right. I accept her reassurance. I don’t have a choice. I can’t make my own down here.

The school’s last stragglers brush past my goggles, and I see her.

She’s here. She’s mine. She squeezes my hand as the first shark comes close again. Maybe she’s doing it to comfort me, or maybe she’s reminding herself that I’m here and she doesn’t have to be scared.

The sharks move as if they own the water, and they do.

It’s all right.

I show Sarah a hammerhead. She waves to it as if it knows what that means. I can’t laugh while biting the mouthpiece. The cage sways with the tide, and we hold onto each other when we need to and let each other go when we don’t. I forget where I am. I don’t think about all the ways I can’t run or fight. I just watch the sharks dance around us.

I feel a steady pressure against the bottoms of my feet. Our time is up.