by D. G. Driver
He lost me somewhere around “old tradition”, and I only half listened. When he finished, I said, “Sounds like something my parents would like.”
As if in response to that, my phone buzzed with a message from my mom. Her plane landed. I let the men know, and we loaded back into the van and continued to her office.
* * * *
Mom was all business. She had her statements prepared and gave Peña a full account on camera of what happened in Alaska with the Affron negotiations and the initial results of the oil spill. After all the preliminary information was given, she went on to talk about the impact of the possibility of mermaids being in the Pacific Ocean. She mentioned that she believed the mermaids were real and she said she wanted to know if there were more of them, if they communicated, or if they had emotions like us. She wanted to know how human they were.
“But where are the mermaids now?” Peña asked when it seemed like she was coming to the end of her spiel. “Can we go see them?”
I took a sharp intake of breath, but my mom didn’t hesitate a bit. She had that answer planned. “I can’t share that information with the press yet because we strongly believe that there is an organization that would try to eradicate all proof of these mermaids if they could find them. A company that will not benefit from the public knowing that there are creatures with human attributes and perhaps even human minds. That company is Affron Oil.”
Mom refused to let me say anything on camera to Juarez Peña, but she did allow for the cameraman to shift away from her and get me in the picture now and again. Peña thanked my mom for the exclusive, although he was frustrated that he couldn’t get me talking and that we still didn’t name the location where we were hiding the mermaids we’d found. That’s what he had really wanted. As I walked him to the door, I promised him that if we learned anything else, he’d be the first reporter we called.
After he left, my mom patted me on the head. “He was a good choice, June. I’m glad you picked him.” She ran her fingers through my long hair to get out some of the tangles, something she’d always done to me when I was little. I always screamed at her back then, but now her touch felt good. I turned to her with hours’ worth of things I wanted to tell her ready to burst from my lips. First, I wanted to apologize about the College Night fiasco and say I’d reconsider some of her choices if she really wanted me to. Then I wanted to tell her about Carter and ask her what to do to get him to like me again. She needed to know about my experience with the mermaid, and I wanted her to make me feel better about having lost her. I wanted so much from my mom. Her fingers through my hair made me feel like all of this would happen. She’d forgive me, and our relationship would be better than it ever had been.
Her glasses hung around her neck, and as she cupped my chin sweetly with her right hand, she used her other to put her glasses back on her nose. Those deep brown eyes of hers were magnified behind the frames as she looked me straight in the eyes and raised her eyebrows with expectation. I took a breath to speak, but she was faster.
“Let’s get to work.”
Just like that her touch was gone, and she moved across the office to her desk.
She gestured for me to sit in the seat across from her and wait. With a quick intercom message to her office assistant Lisa that she was ready, the phone began to ring. For the rest of the day she fielded calls from reporters. Mostly I just sat there and watched her. I’ve seen her do this kind of work before, but she was truly marvelous that day. I’ve never seen her so on her game. Her responses were fast, well spoken, and to the point. If any of it flustered her, she didn’t show it. That perfect bob hairstyle of hers never drooped; her forehead never creased; her make-up stayed fresh. It’s almost like the effort exhilarated her instead of exhausting her. I, on the other hand, started fading just watching.
The only thing that would occasionally break her coolness was the insisting request from a reporter that they talk to me directly. It was my face in the video, after all. Oh, she tried every trick she could think of to distract them, and sometimes it worked. Several times she failed to divert their intention, and she’d have to give in. Begrudgingly, Mom then handed the phone over to me, clearly not liking the loss of control and hovering until she could snatch the phone back into her safe hands.
Lisa covered the e-mails from her desk. Each time she needed a quote or piece of information, my mom jumped in to give it to Lisa before I could even open my mouth.
By the end of the day, Natalie Sawfeather, the nation’s best environmental lawyer and spokesperson, managed to triple the number of editors that had the story. Now the mermaids would be seen in papers worldwide. Newsweek was going to meet us for a cover story. Dateline and 20/20 were bidding for the exclusive television rights. The story was hot. Real-life mermaids had washed up on the beach after the latest Affron oil spill. People wanted to know more.
At six o’clock we wrapped up and headed home. Mom turned on the radio, and we listened to a talk show completely focused on the issue of the mermaids. The main debate was whether the mermaids were real or not. Could they talk? Could they think? If they could communicate, what country were they citizens of: Canada or the United States? Would they be Republicans or Democrats and could they register to vote? Yes, it was that ridiculous, and the show host propagated most of it.
Most of all, people wanted to know where the mermaids were found and how they could see more of them. A few callers shared that all the hotels, motels, and RV campgrounds were filling up quickly. A manager of one of the hotels said he was offering a free night’s stay to anyone who got a clear picture of a mermaid. One caller, who called himself “Jim”, said that he’d seen Peter Sawfeather at Grayland Beach in Aberdeen.
“That’s not good,” Mom said with a shake of her head and switched off the radio. She immediately called Dad and told him to quit for the day and get home before he got mobbed.
During dinner, Dad confirmed that all the beaches in the area were packed with people who had flocked to the shores with binoculars and cameras, hoping for a glimpse of something large and silver with a tail and breasts. Boats had been chartered, and the waterways were so jammed with mermaid-seekers that it looked like a game of bumper boats off the horizon.
“It’s completely ridiculous out there,” he said as he stirred his soup around in the bowl not eating any of it. “We can’t get the oil cleaned up with all these tourists. They’re stomping all around with their trash and cigarettes, making more of a mess than there was to begin with. All of those boats are spreading the oil around more.” He slammed his spoon on the table. “This shouldn’t be allowed. Where is the Coast Guard? Where are the police?” He lifted his eyes and gave a pretty flat-out mean look at my mom and me. “Everyone’s so concerned with the mermaids, no one’s helping with the real problem. There is a lot of oil in the water killing sea life and vegetation.”
“Honey, the fervor will calm down when no one finds any more mermaids,” Mom said. “In the meantime, a lot of attention is being brought to Affron and what they’ve done.”
“Really?” Dad asked angrily. “I don’t see anything at all being directed at Affron. I don’t see any information about the oil spill hitting the prime-time news. It’s just about the mermaids. That’s it. No one cares about Affron or the oil spill at all!”
“They will, Peter,” Mom insisted. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“It’s too late.” Dad got up and opened the blinds to the front windows and revealed the army of news vans out in the street and the cameras set up on our front lawn. Then he snapped it shut again. “This is all screwed up now.” Dad stormed out the room, and I heard him a moment later banging glasses around in his office as he made himself a drink
Like my dad, I also got up from the table and went to the window where I pulled the blinds toward me so I could take a peek. Immediately, lights flashed in my eyes. I flipped around and leaned with my back against the wall. “He’s right, Mom.”
My mom cleared the dishes. �
��No. He’s just frustrated that things aren’t happening the way he wants them to. We made the right choice, and it’ll all come out right in the end.”
“But what about the mermaids?” I asked. “What if they get hurt?”
My mom actually laughed. “Oh, June. Really? Do you really think any more of them are going to be found? No one has ever seen one before. Ever. Odds of seeing one again are so rare.”
“We found three at once, Mom,” I said. “And people are looking now.”
“Who knows if they’re even looking in the right places?” My mom waved a hand like she was erasing me. “You’re worrying about nothing.”
“Am I?” I stomped up to my room with my mom calling after me to come back and help with the dishes. I ignored her. I shut my door behind me and flopped on my bed, burying my face in my pillow.
Yesterday I thought I could create an emotional crisis in the people of this country that would make them help in my cause to defeat Affron. I hoped the unwelcome attention to their company might make them give up my mermaid in the short term and in the long term stop them from sending out leaky vessels. That’s not what happened. All I did was create chaos. Every whacko in the world was knocking at our door and dialing our phone number. The rest of the world seemed to be spilling off of planes and out of cars in droves to see the freak-show that was reported to be in the waters nearby. So far nobody had spotted a mermaid out there, but that didn’t mean anyone was going away. It just meant that these people would start challenging me more. “You told us they were here, so where are they?” would be the next round of interviews. It would go on until somebody found one.
I hoped, prayed, that the mermaids were far away. That they were deep underwater where no scuba divers could find them. If they did exist out there in the Pacific Ocean somewhere, I knew that this mermaid obsession could harm them. What would people do if they saw a mermaid? Catch her? Trap her? Kill her? Stuff her and mount her on a wall like a prize swordfish? “Look, Earl! I caught me a mermaid this big!”
And if the mermaids were harmed it would all be my fault.
Not to mention the fact that in all this time dealing with reporters and talk show hosts, no one had been doing a single thing to find the one mermaid we knew existed and was alive the last time I saw her. Dr. Schneider hadn’t called once. I hadn’t heard from Carter all day, and Dad said he never showed up at the beach. When I telephoned the Sea Mammal Rescue Center, no one answered.
We’d all been way too busy creating this “mermaids are real” buzz, that we’d completely forgotten about the one that needed us. For all I knew, our mermaid, the one who loved bubbles and liked having her arms rubbed, was dead.
From outside my door I could hear her parents talking about me as they climbed the stairs.
“I think it’s too much for her,” Mom said. “She didn’t expect all this. I don’t think any of us did. I should go talk to her. Give her a little pep talk.”
Oh no, I thought. That’s the last thing I need.
Dad seemed to get that pairing mom and daughter together for a heart-to-heart wasn’t the solution. “I’ll talk to her,” he offered as a better option.
I really didn’t feel like having a talk-to at the moment. If there was anyone I wanted to talk to it was Carter, but he must’ve been really sore at me for the way I behaved in the car. I wondered how he was taking all this mermaid craziness. Did he agree with Mom that it was a great political ploy to use the press? Was he with dad that the issue of the oil spill was getting ignored? Or was he worried to death that our silver friend was still missing? How could I get him to know that was my main concern, too? What could I do to make things better between us again?
Knowing my dad was about to enter my room to chat whether I wanted it or not, I sat up. I propped myself up with pillows and picked up a magazine, trying to make it seem like I wasn’t fretting at all before he opened the door.
“Not buying it,” Dad said as he entered and shut the door behind him.
Trying my best to sound nonchalant, I replied, “What?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he sat down cross-legged on the braided carpet in the middle of the floor. “You want to tell me?” he asked.
I looked at him (sitting “Indian style” of all things) on my floor, his shoulders slumped from a long day and his long hair still drying from his shower. All of a sudden I did want to talk to him. I wanted to tell him how terrible I felt. Dropping my magazine, I stumbled out of my bed, and collapsed in front of him, burying my face into his shoulder as I sobbed. Dad patted my back softly. He didn’t say a word.
When I felt like the last shudder had gone through me, I sat up and leaned back against the bed. Dad reached over and grabbed the tissue box from my dresser top and handed it to me.
“Sorry,” I said, wiping my face.
“Not a problem,” he answered. “That’s been building up for some time. I’m surprised you didn’t break before now.”
“I kind of wish I had,” I said. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have wasted so much time.”
“That’s all perspective,” Dad said. “There is a legend about the great Chinook war hero...”
“Dad,” I stopped him. “You’re not going to tell me another crazy Chinook story, are you?”
“Just for motivation.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need motivation. I feel like I’ve lost control.”
“Yeah, I feel like that too,” he said. “I think we’ve all lost sight of what’s important.”
I knew he was talking about the oil. I knew he was blaming me—again. I stifled my defensiveness and sat up on my knees.
“Dad, listen to me. Hear me. I’m going to tell you a story. It goes like this. Our people have lived on this land for thousands of years, right? We lived in harmony with the cedar tree, the whale, the elk, and raven. Less than three hundred years ago white men came here and took our land from us. They killed us when they couldn’t understand us, and they put us to work for them when they could. They chopped down our cedar trees, massacred our whales, shot our elk, and captured our ravens. Now we’re just ghosts walking in a desolate world. Do you recognize that story, Dad?”
Dad nodded. “Of course. I taught you that.”
“Yes,” I said. “Over and over again.”
“What’s your point?” Dad asked. It surprised me that he didn’t see the connection.
“My point is,” I said slowly, “just because people have learned about the tragedy that befell the American Indians doesn’t mean they’ll remember it when confronted with mermaids.” I leaned forward. “Protecting the rights of our people has been your most important cause. Are the mermaids any different? Do they deserve this exploitation? If we don’t stop this madness, all that will be left of the mermaids are just their echoing cries from the sea.”
Dad stood up and walked to the window. He angled himself so he could see a bit of the street between Haley’s house and ours, observing the number of news vans and reporters milling about outside. “You’re right,” he said at last. “We have started the very kind of insanity that I would normally stand against.”
I stood up and joined him at the window. “Well, I started it,” I confessed.
“Maybe. But your mother and I propagated it.” He turned away from the window and put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll talk to your mother and try to convince her to hold off on any more comments about the mermaids. We’ll contact a couple reporters who might do a piece on how we need the water traffic to stop until the oil is cleared up. That might give the mermaids some room to hide, if they’re out there at all. I don’t know what else we can do.” He kissed me on the forehead and left the room.
I figured I wouldn’t see either of them for a while. He would have to get Mom away from the phones, and then it would be a long discussion before she would be convinced to give up project “Mermaid News Release”.
But I don’t think Dad got out much more than one sentence before I heard my mom shout, “Absolute
ly not!” Two seconds later she banged my bedroom door open so hard I jumped to my feet.
“I don’t think either of you understand the gravity of what is happening here,” she started as Dad stepped in behind her. “Yes, we want the oil cleaned. Yes, we want the mermaids protected. But none of that will make a difference if Affron spills oil again and kills more mermaids, will it? We need to milk this attention for every ounce that we can get, because we will never get an opportunity like this again. All eyes and ears are on us now. We will use this platform to our advantage. I don’t want to hear another word about it. Tomorrow you can help me or you can stay home and do nothing. Got it?”
I swallowed hard. “How do you want me to help?”
“Get some sleep. We’re going with your father to Grayland Beach in the morning. You will need to be made-up, so you look good on camera. I’m going to get you on TV showing the damage from the oil, where the mermaids were found, and you’re going to make it clear who the culprit is. You want responsibility? You got it.”
Mom turned on her heel and left the room. I heard her muttering to herself down the hall as she walked to her room as if she couldn’t stop the ranting machine she’d turned on. Dad had this pained expression on his face, and I’m not sure if it was because his wife disagreed with him or because he’d failed me. Maybe it was a combination of both. If I were younger, I think I’d have rushed over and hugged him. He kind of looked like he needed one. I didn’t do that, though. Instead I just pulled my pajamas out of my dresser to let him know I was ready to be alone.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Set your alarm for 5:30,” he said before he left, closing the door behind him.
I dressed for bed and then went to the window. The lights were on in Haley’s room. For a moment I thought about calling her, but then I decided against it. She wasn’t my friend anymore. I couldn’t call Carter, because he clearly didn’t like me anymore either. My parents were impossible to talk to. I had no one.
Or did I?