Two More Dashes
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Author's Note: These are from an activity in Second Life. Basically, you are given a word, and have fifteen minutes to come up with some prose or poetry. I think I did a better job with the first than with the second. The word is given at the top of each selection.
Kirby took a deep breath. The fourteen hours of classroom, plus the practices and pool instruction, would now be put to the test. He attached the 100 cfm tank to his BCD, hooked up the hoses, released the valve to check the pressure, took a breath of air from his regulator, and then he smiled.
"Okay," said Diana, his instructor, "finish getting your gear on. Swim out to the buoy and go straight down; twenty-five feet. There is an overturned pickup truck. Perch yourself on a tire and relax. Here is the order:
1. Establish buoyancy control.
2. Remove and replace your mask.
3. Remove and replace your tank.
4. Buddy breathing.
Plus two other skills I will ask you, at random to demonstrate. If you fail one, you fail the test. Understood?"
Kirby smiled and nodded. He strapped on his weight belt. He put on his tank, overhead style, like slipping into a sweatshirt. Then he put on his fins. He added his mask last. He walked backwards down the pier, turned around, checked everything, and did a giant stride into the water. He swam out to the buoy, dumped his air from his BCD, turned upside down, and kicked like hell. In about a minute he saw the pickup, picked out a tire, and perched himself.
He was just a bit nervous as he watched Diana descend with the other student divers. But this was it! If he did well today, he would be certified! A real open water diver!
Kirby relaxed, let the air flow through his regulator, and thought of the beautiful and multi-colored coral reefs he would visit. The thought calmed him and drove away any feeling of nervousness he may have had. Kirby was about to become a real scuba diver.
Christoph stood at the podium and ordered the orchestra to take a break. He stepped down, scratched his head, frowned, and noticed Robert, the young tuba player, sitting in the second row and grinning.
"15 minutes," he shouted. Then he headed back to his office and poured himself a glass of water.
A soft knock on the door caught his attention. Robert was leaning against the jamb, arms folded across his chest, and smiling.
"You're really not leveraging your resources properly, Christoph," said Robert, smiling.
"The tuba player speaks," answered Christoph, with a smirk. "To do the number 40 of Mozart, you need three bass viols. And the board refuses to give me the money to hire a third. Instead, I get a tuba player, who plays twice a season."
"Well," said Robert, "perhaps, if a certain maestro did not find German bowing offensive...."
"You can play?" asked Christoph. "You, an American?"
"An American trained at Curtis," replied Robert. "But you've no use of that."
"Is you bass viol here?"
"Of course," said Robert. "Shall I join the ranks?"
Christoph raised his baton to give the downbeat of the Mozart 40, "Prague." That silly bass viol, finished in white pine instead of traditional red maple, with the player using German bowing as opposed to French, looked completely out of place. But when the strings started to play, Christoph smiled. He had found a resource.