Diving With Tigers — Part 2

Liv descends into deep water. Comes face-to-face with a tiger shark. And starts to sense there’s more to the story than meets the eye.

Hi and welcome! I’m excited to share the next installment of Diving With Tigers. If you’re new here, DWT is a serialized Liv-ing Story — a fictional tale told through my alter ego, Liv. You can learn more about this stream of writing here.

This post is Part 2, so if you haven’t read Part 1 yet, you can start there.

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The Descent — Continued

As Jack and I sank, time bent into something slow, dreamlike. The weight of our gear pulled us down.

I felt the pressure increase and pinched my nose, then gently blew through it. My ears responded.

We were suspended. No ground beneath us, no gravity we could feel. Just breath and motion. With every inhale, I rose slightly; with every exhale, I sank. That was part of the magic — it didn’t feel like swimming, but flying. Like I was moving through a whole new axis of reality.

The ocean floor came into focus like a slowly developing photograph. First the outlines, then the color, then the life.

We settled on a sloping reef terrace, where jagged lava rock gave way to pink-hued coral heads. The light filtered down in shimmering columns, casting everything in a flickering blue.

Jack and I made eye contact. He signaled that he wanted to start my my skills test. I nodded, and folded into the lotus position, hovering just above the seafloor, motionless.

His eyes crinkled in amusement. He clapped.

Then he reached up and broke the seal on his mask, letting the water flood in. Pressing the top of his mask to his forehead, he tilted his chin upward and exhaled through his nose in a clean, controlled burst. The water cleared.

I clapped, then mimicked him — feeling the flush of cold water, the pressure against my nose, and a wave of relief as the last of it cleared with my exhale.

A pair of raccoon butterflyfish flashed between us. Bold black stripes, tails flickering.

Jack emphasized an inhale, then he removed his regulator from his mouth, rotated it downward, and let it drop behind his shoulder. He exhaled in a steady stream of tiny bubbles, then reached back with ease, retrieved the regulator, purged the water with a single breath, and resumed breathing.

He pointed to me.

I took a couple extra breaths, then repeated each step. Mouthpiece out and down, slow bubbles, sweep-and-recover. The regulator clicked back into place. I purged. Breathed. Nodded.

He gave a slow clap, then motioned for us to follow the reef.

I transitioned from upright to horizontal and finned gently alongside him, the coral passing beneath us like an alien forest. Brain coral, cauliflower coral, delicate fans. Schools of tiny anthias zapped like static in my periphery. A bluestripe snapper drifted past in a lazy arc.

There was no sound except the slow metronome of my breath, the soft crackle of life on the reef, and the occasional thump of my own heartbeat in my ears.

I didn’t have to speak.

I didn’t have to smile.

I could just watch.

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We hovered near a coral head, watching a moray eel slip in and out of its cave like a ribbon of curiosity. Its jaw opened and closed in a perpetual grimace, revealing needle teeth.

Jack floated around a craggy corner while I became transfixed by a cluster of nudibranchs the size of rice grains, inching across coral like slow-moving confetti.

Then I felt a tug — a firm grip and slow, intentional pull.

I turned.

Jack moved his body in front of mine with precision.

I blinked behind my mask, not understanding why I was now staring at the back of his head.

And then, in slow motion, a massive tiger shark drifted into view. Just feet in front of us.

First, its nose.

Then its eye. Black and unblinking.

My brain shut down all non-essential activity and projected red letters into my mind’s eye:

P R E D A T O R

The rest of its body followed like a rolling SUV. Wide, muscular, marked with the unmistakable faint stripes of its kind. It glided through the water, slow and steady.

My eyes widened as I clamped both hands onto Jack’s arms. Hard.

A primal part of me spoke up:

If it turns, it’s going to attack.

I felt my breath rise into my throat, short and tight.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

I focused on my exhale, forcing it to go slow and measured through the regulator.

The shark continued on. And then vanished into the melting blue.

Jack turned to face me. His eyes smiled. And then —

Laughter. The sound came through the gear and water muted, but unmistakable. His shoulders shook.

I stared at him, incredulous, then shook my head. I felt the corners of my mouth pull upward.

It was like I’d spoken it into existence.

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We continued the dive, though everything felt a little sharper after that.

Every shimmer of a scale, every shadow, carried the question: Is it back?

But the reef went on about its business.

Tiny fish darted in and out of crevices. A lazy puffer drifted by like a balloon that had lost interest.

I tried to find a rhythm and enjoy the lively activity swirling around me, but my nervous system was still on alert.

When Jack turned and gave me a thumbs up, I returned it.

We began our slow ascent.

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I could hear the chatter on the boat as soon as we broke the surface.

I let out an audible sigh and then kicked to the ladder. I handed Jill my fins and tank.

Captain Frank reached down and helped me up. “I hear you got to see that tiger you were looking for.”

Laughter erupted across the deck.

“I mean, I don’t know that I was looking for it,” I said, breathless, “but I sure did see it.”

“Right?” One of the guys said, pointing at me with his water bottle. “You totally manifested that thing!”

Jill handed me a towel, warm from the sun. I wrapped it tight around me, my body still buzzing with adrenaline.

Jack emerged from the water, hauling himself up the ladder with a grin.

“Jack, how big would you say it was?”

“Thirteen, fourteen feet,” he said. He flopped down onto the bench beside me, water pooling at his feet. His cheeks were flushed.

The others recounted what else they’d seen — an octopus tucked in a ledge, a field of garden eels poking up and swaying in the current, a hidden flounder, a small group of goatfish whiskering the sand.

“You good?” Jack asked, voice low and meant for me.

“Yeah,” I said. “That was… crazy.”

He nodded. “You didn’t panic. You did good.”

I shrugged. “I was too frozen to panic.”

He laughed. “Well, that was your shark. Now we can relax and enjoy the next dive.”

Everyone agreed that that was the big show. We couldn’t believe our luck.

I nodded along and smiled.

But as Frank cranked up the engine and started towards the next site, I stared out at the water. Something in me wouldn’t settle.

The thing was, it didn’t feel like a climax.

It felt like a warning.

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Ready for part 3?

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In case you missed it

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