| Learning How Not To Drown |
| She counted to ten as she held my hand under the water. I twisted my fingers, allowing them to dance as I had imagined mermaids tango in the depths of the ocean. �And that�s all there is to it,� Laurie said, as she pulled my hand out of the bathtub. �That�s the first step in becoming a mermaid.� There was a silence reserved only for such moments of such sacredness. We played this game many times in my childhood - the quick interchange of folklore between an older sister and a mere tadpole. After talking about the secret cult of merfolk, I was mystified. Every waking moment of my being became devoted to this special task of discovering concoctions and techniques to quicken the transformation. I wanted to be something more than myself. I wanted to be fish-like, with an air of honour, like the Queens of long lost Atlantis. I convinced myself that upon slipping into the icy waters, the majestic women formed gills and tails in order to adapt to their new kingdom. I wanted to be next. She held my hand underwater for a minute. When it was allowed to breathe, my fingers were puckered - the first stages of developing gills. On television, I saw a small child swimming underwater, bright-eyed and smiling. Its naked, writhing body made its way effortlessly to its mother�s open arms. �That�s how a mermaid learns how to swim,� I told Laurie. �No, swimming is natural for them. They can also breathe underwater.� I put my head into the bathtub that night, trying in vain to breathe. Mother rescued me, my face purple with a mixture of deep embarrassment and disappointment. I remember Laurie�s multi-coloured fingernails against my pale skin - they reminded me of coral, sometimes the fish that have not been discovered due to the fear of divers to travel beyond the range of their underwater lantern. I liked the fact that I was evolving, bit by bit. First it was my fingers. They showed the first signs of change, as they started to become spongy as if they owned a set of lungs that were inhaling the oxygen in the water. It was only a matter of time before the permanent change. I was constantly drawn to water. Staring into the dishwater at night, I would imagine secret worlds hidden underneath the bubbles. In mud puddles, I saw the dingy afterlife of wasted dreams. I felt sorry for its darkness, its inability to allow the sunlight to reach its fiery underbelly. There were evil fish swimming in that foul water, far beyond the touch of even one gentle mersprite. I soon developed sympathy for the poor unlovable pool. Then came the day when I knew I was down to the wire. I had to change. My skin began to itch, and I often felt the desire to drink glass after glass of water, feeling unfulfilled in-between gasps for breath. In the sunlight, I was a typical child, full of creativity and charm. But at night, tucked safely into my bed, I would begin to change. I couldn�t get comfortable. I would wake up sweating sea water from my every pore - I would drink the water on my forearms before feeling safe enough to sleep again. One night, while daydreaming in the tub in our pristine bathroom, I noticed the slow development of scales on my legs. The small, silverish-green hexagons looked more like freckles than anything else. Every few days, a new section of skin (below my kneecap, on the inside of my thigh, on my heel etc.) started to change colour and texture. My toes became webbed, my ankles turned outward, and my hair turned into seaweed. I would lie face down in the tub, body completely weighed down by the pull of minuscule molecules on my naked skin. Around my face, the seaweed would dance in the silence of the broken tide. I took my first underwater breath. My lungs filled with its sweetness. The next morning, I was awakened by a scream. It was my mother. I lifted my head out of the cold water, the seaweed hair dripping droplets of life off of their ends. Mother�s eyes were filled with terror, her mouth forming a continuous �O� shape, as if she was attempting to swallow the situation in its entirety. �Mother?� I uttered, my voice echoing deep in my throat. There was silence. Laurie�s face appeared behind mother�s. I could see the reflection of myself in their eyes full of awe: my shining scales, the gills that had formed on my flesh. They shut the door slowly, deliberately with an air of disdain. Their feet padded down the carpet in the hall, resting with a sob. Mother was weeping seawater. |