Craig Swims Under The Dock To Meet Relatives Who Would Not Surface

I went under the dock Tuesday because several members of my catfish family would not come up.

This was not a refusal to see me. It was a location request.

At 8:36 a.m., my aunt surfaced once near the low ladder, turned without touching the bank, and went back under. Two younger cousins followed her down. The message was plain enough. If I wanted to continue the visit, I needed to stop making the surface the room where everything important happened.

I put my shoes under the bench, checked the ladder, and entered the water.

Going Down

The water under the dock was cooler than the open bend and darker than it looked from shore. Sunlight came through the gaps in the boards in flat strips. The pilings held old rope marks, mud, and the quiet authority of a room that had not asked to be photographed.

I carried no notebook under. I had brought one in the bag, but the visit no longer felt like a thing to take notes over while keeping my face dry.

My aunt waited near the second piling.

She did not move toward me at first. She held there in the water with her whiskers steady, letting me adjust to the depth. This is one of the ways family can be kind without making arrival easy.

The Lower Room

Three relatives formed a loose line between the pilings. They were not arranged for me. They were already there, and I had entered the space where they had chosen to be.

That difference mattered.

I tried to make eye contact with Darryl, who had stayed deep during my last visit. He moved behind a piling and then returned on the other side. That was more than surfacing would have been. It meant he was willing to cross something while I was watching.

I did not reach for him.

My aunt moved closer after that. She touched the front of my shirt once, then turned so her side rested against my arm. The pressure was heavier underwater. It felt less like being greeted and more like being held in place long enough to understand where I was.

I held still.

What Surfacing Misses

On shore, family visits become visible to other people. They become something a person could explain. Under the dock, there was no audience and no version of the moment that improved by being described from above.

The family stayed with me for six minutes.

No one forgave me in a way that could be reported cleanly. Darryl remained near but not close. My aunt made contact twice. One younger cousin inspected my sleeve and left as if he had confirmed I was still mostly the same person.

That was the visit.

When I climbed out, I sat on the lowest board until the water stopped running from my sleeves. I wrote nothing for another nine minutes.

The note I eventually made was short: some relatives will not surface because they are not asking you to visit the surface version of them.

I will remember that before I ask them to come up again.