Dry heaves and wreckage

Braving the waves we went to sea.
Bang, drop, wait, slam. Door handle in the kidneys. The weightless float, drop, the stagger.
The impact of the rising boat. Wham.
The sheet of water soaking the deck, The worry of getting your dry suit wet. Twinsets jumping and twisting,
rebreathers banging and stages scuppered. The forced remarks, the stoic few already kitted up and down and up and roll and down and cups of tea returned to the sea.
"None but us" we bravely said.
"None but us" softened the blows, dried our eyes and blew our noses
Another dive boat on the wreck, "none but us and them then" our St. Crispin’s spirit diluting, washed away on St. Patrick's day.
Thinking about the lift, crashing down on your head or flinging you out of the water, flipped
like an over enthusiastically spatula’d egg. Images of divers like Orca tossed seals, flinged and flung. Soaked and wrung.
Trying to remember something to forget.
Kitting up, struggling, dumbly watching others struggle.
"Can anyone see my drysuit hose?"
"Is your pony reg supposed to be underneath your BCD?"
Looking up at your buddy to see if he's ready, back at your kit, quick eyes on the horizon, tears of frustration at unhelpful gloves.
Looking down on your buddy, sky, waves, sky, waves, Rolling, bowling, penny a shie.
Coconuts lined up and ready to topple. "Those about to dive...."
Too scared to spit in your mask, breakfast isn't effective anti-fog.
After you? No no after you.
The first pair jump off a cliff, the next step up into a wave.
Now you see them now you don't
Soon you'll be them, hope you won't.
Standing at the transom, trying to work out where the boat will be. Up, down a foot in front and flipped behind.
"Go!"
"What?"
Gone.
Alone in a bowl of green.
On display on a mound of grey.
Up to the shot, down to the shot, up and down and down and down.
Calm and green then black.

Silver stars and constellations, bubbles are all that's left of your buddy.
A rope, some bubbles, a hand, a signal. Into the black.
Torch out to check computer, ears letting you know you're dropping.
Drysuit gripping, air in slowing, easing.
Suddenly a Jacuzzi, buddy freeflow? No, diver soup. An intoxicating blend of wholesome BSAC served with crunchy PADI.
Pair of divers assembled from the dark. Expressionless confusion of kit and limbs.
On their way up and out, can being back on the boat be the lesser of evils?
Are you my buddy? Are you my buddy? What about you?
Masked inquiries Are you my buddy's fin?
Black turns grey and a metal post appears, drifting past and up.
Grey turns brown and metal meets mask.
White anemones and oaten pipe hydroids tickle the torch.
More divers' parts appear and move away. Diverse parts, disembody in the fog.
Signals and invisible shrugs.
Reels are brandished, interrogation lamps flicked turned on.
Transfixed in the glare, dimly aware of frantic gesturing.
"I thought you were my buddy, but you were just undercover"
"Where’s my brief"
"How long can you hold me without charge?"
Read my hands.
"How do you say I'm happy to fossick here for a bit?"
"WHAT?"
"WHAT?"
Only one signal left that might convey any meaning. It’s a fair cop."UP"
"up?"
"UP"
"up?"
"up?"
"up"
"UP"
"UP"
Up and out of it.
First past the post, sinking out of sight.
Torch on computer, dry suit and ears bubbling.
Hello rope, nice to see you.
Black turns to green and buddy appears.
Transformed from monstrous shape to human, it's not the torch wielding, flailing maniac from the depths but buddy boy. Nice to see you buddy mine, how the devil are you?
Who were those confused muppets down there? Certainly not us.
Safety stop? Why not.
This is more like it, if there was anything to see I'd want to see it. Bouncing line.
Computers clear and up into the waves and down and up and up.
That's a big one. All right down there?
Over pressure valves burbling, wings spread.
"WHAT?"
"WHAT?”
"YES?"
“MBWA MKUBE MBWA?”
“WHAT?”
Wall of boat, hull in a hole.
Up on the lift. Gently eased from fire to pan.
Straddling, straggling stagger across the deck. A full boat all divers up. Rolling eyes and rolling gaits.
Some saw the three minute buoys from the rebreather boys and stayed a bored.
How was it?
Black no viz.
Who’s doing the second dive?
errr.
Diesel tea and cardboard biscuit.