Adriene Crimson

my dad’s a scuba diver.

when I spent summers with him, sometimes he’d take me out to his dives with him. that usually meant that I’d sit in the boat while he was digging up starfish and sea urchins. sometimes I’d swim around and try to get back in the boat (which usually meant I’d end up hanging off the edge of the boat waiting for him to pull me back in. i’ve never been very strong in the upper body.)

sometimes he’d bring some giant or tiny lobsters up (the ones the lobsterpeople would have to throw back) for me to look at and we’d watch them swim away. sometimes we’d sneak them home and eat them – once we had a lobster with a claw that was at least six inches across. my mom kept the empty shell for years.

anywho, the real story I wanted to tell was about the time he brought up a fresh scallop. he split the beautiful, white shell open, sliced out the guts and threw them back where they came from. then he slurped the still living scallop muscle right down his throat while I watched, somewhat awed, somewhat disgusted. he offered me some and after I declined he said “I love it when I can feel them wriggle down my throat.”

I wish I were that adventurous with food.