Alive

By: Aviantei

7 mph


I made a reservation through the dive park, but that was for the afternoon. Even though it's warm on the coast, midday waters are more pleasant to submerge in, even if just a little. But Cunningham's never gone underwater like that before, so he's taking a crash course in using a rebreather. I sit on the poolside with my feet in the water, already readjusted to the sensation of breathing underwater.

Being an impulse trip, we're both in rental full body dive suits. Cunningham seems to be doing well enough, coming up for air much less than his other crash course mates. No one in the small group seems to recognize him, or maybe they're just too distracted by not drowning to notice.

Cunningham reemerges and chats with his dive instructor. Water weighs his dark hair down, but it still maintains some volume. Despite all his baggy clothes, Cunningham has a pretty lean figure from all his working out. I figured as much from his mech suit, but the swim wear makes it plenty obvious.

I kick my feet in gentle arcs and watch the ripples skate across the water. An opposing set of ripples pulses towards me, faint waves dispelling the chlorinated water. Cunningham tucks an elbow over the edge of the pool to my side. "She said I should be good to go," he reports, tugging the goggles away from his face. Water laps against my thighs. "I'm sure it'll be different underwater but…well, we're on a tight schedule, huh?"

"Once your body adjusts to needing oxygen, you'll be fine," I say by way of assurance. A fly buzzes past and I flick water at it to scare it off. I check my phone. "We still have a few hours. We could do the boring thing and sightsee, or we can find somewhere cool to eat lunch at."

Cunningham raises an eyebrow, water still dripping off his chin. "What do you consider cool?"

I splash him in the face and stand up, feet slapping against the concrete. "What's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?"


I've done a lot of things in my life centered around the concept of trying new things. When you have a lot of money and you wanna break the routine, travel comes to mind. I spent the whole year following my big bank breakthrough traveling to every country I could think of. Hell, I've backpacked across multiple continents. Thus, I've tried my fair share of food, often from the source country itself.

Good Cambodian restaurants are hard to find, but I'm glad to live in a time of such cultural crossover. IGPX City takes the cake in the number of nationalities it attracts, but other cities don't do bad, either.

Which is how I get the pleasure of taking a photo of Cunningham Hume looking disgusted while staring down a fried tarantula.

The restaurant hasn't hit its lunch rush yet, but a few clusters of regulars chatter at the tables. The whole place smells like a distilled wood grill. The furnishings look like they've seen the worst of the past half a century and don't match each other in the slightest, but I think the furniture blow out sale look feels natural.

"You can't be serious," Cunningham near growls once our server is out of earshot. Was it that rich upbringing that made him so polite in public?

"What?" I put every air of innocence into my words. "Bugs and the like are pretty common foods in a number of countries. Japan makes some awesome wasp crackers." Cunningham's face further twists as he tries to put the two words together. I'll be sure to tell Nate that Cunningham Hume doesn't like adventure. I break off a tarantula leg, and he looks away as I bite the crispy end off like a French fry. "Come on; don't be such a pussy."

Cunningham sorts through the layers of his green mango salad, as if fruit flies are going to buzz out when he's not looking. "You can have your weird bug food all you like," he says, stabbing through a piece of fruit with his fork. "I am going to have a somewhat exotic but perfectly normal meal."

He doesn't respond to petty taunts. That's no fun. I put on a mock pout and gesture to my actual entre. "Lort Cha is not made of bugs," I protest. "It is a perfectly respectful vegetable and noodle dish." To prove my point, I poke at the egg on top, letting the yolk run over the rest of the plate. Excellent.

"The noodles look like they could be worms."

I snort. "Don't be an ass."

Cunningham has an easy smirk for all of two seconds—the amount of time it takes us both to realize we're enjoying ourselves a bit too much and start on our meals. This is a wager after all. A foreign vocalist warbles out words I can't understand from a radio on the side. Slurping up noodles gets old fast, so I swallow my latest bite and pick up conversation.

"So you're really not even going to try the tarantula?"

With the most frustrating topic for him as possible.

His latest bite crunches through a carrot loud enough for me to hear. If I'm not careful, I might make him queasy. Might be worth it to make a celebrity throw up. "Are you going to bring it up all meal if I don't?"

I grin. Smart man.

Cunningham groans and goes back to eyeing the spider, jet black and crispy against the white plate. I pluck off another leg and smear it through the accompanying sauce. "Take whichever bit you like. The head's good for beginners. I've got dibs on the abdomen, though."

It seems the idea of eating something while it stares back at him is too much, as Cunningham snaps off half a tarantula leg, pinched between two fingers. I munch through my own, keeping track on his progress. Growing up with little brothers taught me all the silly ways people can slip food off the table without being eaten. But Cunningham glares down the piece of tarantula before closing his eyes and popping the bite into his mouth.

As he chews, Cunningham's disgust fades out. I watch on all the way until he swallows. Cunningham opens his eyes and nods. "I didn't expect it to taste so…"

"Edible?" I offer, amused. Cunningham hushes me, even though no one's paying attention to the two tourists in the room.

"Normal," the man corrects, taking a drink from his iced coffee. "I was going to say normal." I shrug and go back to my Lort Cha, retrieving bean sprouts with my chopsticks. "I mean it's different but…not gross or anything."

I snicker. "Did you think this was a prank or something?"

Ice cubes rattle as Cunningham sets down his drink. "Maybe."

I lean back in my chair, soy and fish sauces mingling in my mouth. "Trust me, if I wanted to play a prank on you, it'd be a lot more interesting than this. I mean, I know where you live. Not the area I was expecting, by the way."

"That's the point," Cunningham says, looking a bit miffed. "Big fancy places are too big for whoever stays in them." Having gone from an apartment in New York to my nice condo, I may not have much room to chime in. But I don't think I could live in some big fancy house, either. Not by myself. "Where do you live anyway?"

Aha, there's the distrust that was missing. I know too much about him; that can make anybody uncomfortable. Doesn't mean I'll let him even the playing field. "Hm," I muse, "somewhere nice with plenty of space and wonderful security." That doesn't narrow the options down by much, plus Mariya's just as good as hiding information as she is at digging it up. "Maybe I'll invite you over someday. Or maybe pigs will fly."

"Well, if nothing else you've gotten me to eat spider," Cunningham considers, "so who knows what'll happen."

I flick a broken off tarantula leg onto Cunningham's plate and watch him try to figure out just what to do with it.


The fresh ocean air breaks over the boat in sea salt breezes. Other diving trip participants chat in groups of two or three. In consideration of Cunningham's skill, we're in a very basic group with a couple of instructors to help keep everyone in check. A couple of people even have their kids with them. Maybe next time Dad can take a vacation, I should bring Nate and Caleb out to a place like this. Caleb would love it.

One of the guides calls everyone together for a review of underwater hand signals. I observe long enough to put the pieces back in my brain and make sure I know how these folks like air level indicators: point the thousands number at your wrist, then the hundreds separate. Leaning against the railing, I watch the water race past.

We still have ten minutes until we reach our dive sight, the sunken ruins waiting below. Back to shore, specks of people clamber over the beaches, trying to squeeze the rest of the good weather for what it's worth. Someone's surfboard shoots up into the air as they wipe out. Out to sea, water stretches on and the few boats speckled across the water seem just as distant as the land.

"You sure have a habit of not listening when people talk to you, don't you?" Cunningham remarks, his flippers slapping against the boat with each step my way. I spin around, propped up on the railing still with my elbows. "Are you even having any fun dragging me into this mess?"

"It's not a mess; it's an experience. And I'm having loads of fun." In relative comparison to the past several months. I can't believe how much time I wasted moping like an idiot. And all the action of the day has kept my thoughts occupied. "I'll be having even more fun when we're underwater and I don't have to hear you nag me every five minutes."

"Funny, I was thinking it'd be a relief to keep you from suggesting anything outlandish."

I quirk a bow. "This is outlandish to you?" I ask, spreading my arms out. A boat in the ocean may not be common, but it's still a plain and monotonous state. "Oh no, oh no, Cunningham. This ain't nothin'. If you want outlandish, I'll be sure to try harder next time. You'll be in for a treat."

"Oh yeah?" Cunningham gives in and leans on the railing with me, gazing up to the sky. It's clear, bringing down the perfect amount of sun to light the waters below. "Is this treat another spider? I think I'll pass."

"It's a surprise," I say, tapping a finger to my lips. The dive suit presses plush against my mouth. "Though if you insist I'm sure I can arrange more spiders." Cunningham's face pales just a bit. A laugh and pat him on the shoulder before heading over to the tightening gathering of our fellow divers. "Come on, they're ready to fit us up with our rebreathers and air tanks."

Cunningham falls into line with me as our guides show each of us how to attach our tanks and harnesses, plus check that our rebreathers are in and the whole shindig is fastened. There's the standard reminders to check our air gauges often and to stick with the group. One of the kids looks worried, but a boy beside him holds her hand in reassurance. I double check my own gear once more and check over Cunningham's before putting on my goggles.

We're lined up by twos in our buddy pairs and head to the edge of the deck, waiting for the boat to slow. It comes to a rest and the captain drops anchor. Satisfied, the first guide drops feet first into the water, their head popping back up over the surface while the second starts to urge the other pairs to follow.

I give Cunningham the best challenging look I can muster with a rebreather between my teeth as we approach the edge, and then we plunge on in.


[Author's Note]

Speaking of the fun things I got to research, weird foods was one of them. Deep fried tarantula is a real thing, so Cambodian cuisine wins. Kirsten will eat anything that seems like an adventure. Cunningham, not so much. I think I'd like to try once, just for the experience.

The other thing I researched for this section was scuba diving! Not that we see much of it here, but we will in the next chapter, which drops next Saturday. Please look forward to it!

-Avi

[04.16.2018]