by Allie Burton
My job encompassed the entire park, so I cleaned the rides and games area, changed trash bags in the food court, and swept the lines at the various rides, and the mini golf course.
He surveyed the restaurant avoiding my gaze. “This and that.”
“You’re a manager.” I knew that because of the type of polo shirt he wore.
“Temporary. For the summer.”
“Do you live close by?”
“Not far.”
Odd, he didn’t want to talk about himself either. Something we had in common.
“How about you? Where do you live?”
Wiggling in my seat, I felt the redness climbing my cheeks. I couldn’t confess my current living arrangements. Drumming my fingers on the table, I tried to think of a new topic. If neither of us wanted to talk about ourselves, then what did we have to discuss?
Nothing. I couldn’t tell him my deepest secrets or my darkest fears. I couldn’t tell him my hopes and dreams for the future. I couldn’t even tell him my address.
Why would he care when no one else ever did? Brutal hurt mixed with my well-learned cynicism. It made me mad that I could still feel pain. But what I needed to remember was that he would betray me. Like everyone else did.
My hands tightened in my lap. My heart closed against him. Even if I had a home to go to, I would never let him in. Into my home or my heart.
I smushed my lips together to stop the slight tremble. “I should get going.” I folded my napkin on the diagonal and set it on the table.
“But it’s early.” He signaled for the check, so obviously he wasn’t protesting too hard. “How about a walk on the beach?”
Then again, he still wanted to spend time with me. I froze. I could admit to myself I was enticed. Lured like a fish grabbing a worm on a hook.
But I couldn’t risk it. Living a lie wasn’t conducive to making friends. Hiding wasn’t easy. I stood and grabbed my bag and backpack. “No. I should get…home.”
Before he had a chance to pay, I walked out of the restaurant and ran down the street, my bruised heart bumping in my hollow chest. I never should’ve agreed to dinner. Friendship only caused pain. Catching my breath, I walked to the beach and followed the path to the campground wishing we could’ve gotten to know each other better, wishing I could’ve stayed longer.
But wishes were for fantasies and I lived in the real world.
Stiffening my spine, I trudged over the slight hill to the camp sites located inland from the beach in a canyon lined with giant sycamores. I passed the small, general store and manager’s office and continued to my green and much repaired tent. The damp air lingered between the four canvas walls. I brushed off the sand and lay down on the green salvaged sleeping bag.
The bag was better than the first time I’d camped out. When I was eight, I couldn’t eat the burnt crisp of hardness Carlita had put on my dinner plate.
“You don’t like the food I provide?” Her wide body had bumped against the kitchen table. “Kids under the ocean wish they could have a cooked meal.”
I remembered thinking most parents would have said kids in Africa or China, but Carlita always had been different.
I’d murmured, “Overcooked.” Way over cooked.
“You ingrate.” She’d grabbed me by my tank top and yanked me from the chair. “If you don’t like my food, go find your own.” She’d shoved me out of our trailer and locked the door.
I’d stumbled down the stairs, hot tears running down my face. After knocking on several other trailers, with no response, I knew I was on my own for the night. Thunder rumbled and rain poured out of the sky. With my stomach growling, I’d curled under the tarp covering the wood pile and used a log for a pillow.
Owls hooted. Coyotes screeched. Once I heard a snake hiss. I’d lain awake all night not thinking about finding food but thinking about being food.
After groveling to Carlita the next morning, I’d learned to cook and had become her chef from that point forward. At least tonight, after the burger from Barney’s, I wasn’t hungry.
Staring at the stained canvas ceiling, my eyes burned remembering my conversation with Chase about why I’d moved to California.
Yeah, I was living the dream.
I might not have a home, but I felt like I belonged here. I might need to stay away from people, but I was in control of what I did. I might not know what drew me to Mermaid Beach, but I planned to find out.
* * *
After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, I got up and headed to the campground’s small beach. I couldn’t sleep and my mind raced.
I’d fought the tug of the water since arriving in Mermaid Beach. I’d never swam in salt water before and I needed to know what would happen to my skills in the ocean. I couldn’t stay out of the water forever. I loved to swim, loved my skills. I hated being on display.
The moonlight cut into the darkness of the night. A few stars twinkled and the fog seemed to be in a holding pattern off shore. The ocean called. Each wave seemed to, well, wave at me, welcoming me to southern California and Mermaid Beach.
The beach was deserted. Now was the perfect time.
I jumped up and yanked off my sweatshirt and sweats revealing my star-studded bikini. Sand squished between my toes marching to the end of the beach where the waves met the shore. Tangy salt tickled my nose.
No more wimping out. I dipped my toe in, not too warm or too cold, but much warmer than the fog-misted air. Using my whole foot, I splashed water around and then, took a step in deeper.
The salt water came to my knees. A tiny silver fish darted between my legs. A wave rolled to mid-thigh.
I ventured further, the ocean waves rising to my waist and then slipped into the silky softness of the water. My body melded into the sea like my skin and the liquid were one. The water’s buoyancy lifted me and my spirits.
Dunking my head under, I opened my eyes. The salt didn’t sting and I could see for a long distance, better than in any dirty pool.
Now for the big test—I opened my mouth and—breathed.
My entire body loosened and un-tensed. I could breathe and see in the Pacific Ocean. My abilities might make me a freak, but I still enjoyed them.
Stroking deep, I swam underwater. Faster than in any pool. I dove further down, twirling and twisting and having fun. I let my body glide through the ocean, floating and swirling.
Since running away I’d never felt this sense of liberation, of exhilaration, of happiness. There was no one here to gasp or applaud or question my talents. Finally, I was free to enjoy myself.
Skimming the bottom, I noted where the sand changed from beige to darker brown, where the rocks started building up toward the cliffs. Placing my hand on a super-large boulder, a rock I could never lift on land, nerves scratched at my spine. I bent my knees and lifted the boulder up and over my head. Then, I tossed it. The rock hit the ground and the disturbed sand rose and settled back down.
A powerful charge surged through me. Yes. I still had super strength. All my skills seemed better, sharper, stronger in the ocean.
Saving Brandon today had felt great. If only I could find a way to put my talent to good use without attention or questions or fuss.
I swam around the rocks in a wild dance, raising my arms up and down, twisting at the waist. Green and brown tangled seaweed floated by and schools of small fish swam past. I waved and smiled. It was a world different than any I’d known before and I loved every drop.
A blur of black darted past and spun around in front of me. I stilled until I recognized the furry shape. A sea otter swam to the surface and then dove down again. Its thick fur skimmed my legs, tickling me, and then he swam back up top.
He dove down again, spun around in front of my face, and went back up again.
Curious, I kicked my feet and rose to the surface.
The little guy lay on his back, his white face sticking out above the waves. He looked like a stuffed animal from the carnival games, only much cuter wit
h his little black nose and small, dark eyes. A streak of fluorescent green tinged the side of his nose.
“Were you the little guy caught on the rocks today?”
He nodded and used his paw to point to the beach.
Point? “Sea otters don’t point.”
The otter’s head nodded again. He stared with an intensity that sent a chill through my body. On second thought, not at all like a stuffed animal.
“Do you, um, communicate with people?” My words slowed. I tried to take everything in.
This time his paw pointed at me.
I gasped, sucked in air and water, and started coughing. Guess my lungs couldn’t handle air and water at the same time.
The sea otter twirled around behind me. His cold snout bumped me on the back.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” The question sounded so stupid leaving my tongue. I’m mean, come on, talking to an animal?
He swam back in front and nodded his head up and down. Yes.
I reeled back and caught my breath. I was talking to a sea otter.
The otter ducked under and swam around me in a circle. Then, he lay on his back and used his paw in a “come here” motion.
I ducked under and swam in a circle around him. He circled again, and so did I. We were swimming in a constant figure-eight pattern under the water.
Unbelievable. I was playing with a sea otter. My spirits soared. My smile widened. Like being a five-year-old at a playground, I’d made my first real friend.
Not that the otter was a human friend, but it counted. Didn’t it?
Following for a bit, I stopped when I realized he headed to shore. “I don’t want to go back yet.” I wasn’t ready to leave the comfort of the water and return to my lonely tent.
The sea otter shook his head fast in an agitated motion. Even his furry face appeared upset.
“Can’t we play longer?” I remembered reading about sea otters and how they played. Slipping and sliding and diving. Turning and twisting underwater, kind of like I’d done earlier.
He did the “follow me” motion again. Then his eyes grew wide and his whiskers twitched.
I twisted around, but saw nothing. The fog had rolled closer to shore, but the stars and the moon still gave off a little light. A small motor boat sounded in the distance.
I faced him again. “What’s wrong?”
The sea otter was gone. My furry friend had left me.
Alone, again.
An ache tore through my chest and I sniffed. “That’s okay. I’m used to being by myself.”
The water around me swirled. Waves gathered in a big circle, expanding out in further and further concentric loops. The pattern repeated with more strength and velocity. Like a toilet being flushed, the water pooled into a vortex.
My body caught in the current. I couldn’t move out of the circle, surrounded by a ring of water. My tummy churned with the motion. My gaze glazed over watching the water go round and round like a hypnotist’s trick.
A strange sensation sucked at my toes. The feeling continued up my legs to my hips. I kicked and clawed, but the water tugged like a ginormous vacuum at the bottom of the ocean.
Panic spurted through me, exploding in my flaying arms and legs. I kicked. I stroked. I screamed. Nothing helped. My super strength wasn’t helping at all. I couldn’t fight this weird force.
I knew about the dangers of swimming alone. Knew about dangerous ocean currents. Knew the rules.
But they didn’t apply to me. I was different.
And so was this force that had me in its grip.
My heart began a pointless race against disaster. None of my other limbs could move. I couldn’t get free.
As I went down, I remembered dreams of being dragged under the ocean. The people in my dreams looked normal, nice. Not a faceless, evil suction. Terror froze every one of my muscles. I couldn’t struggle, couldn’t swim, couldn’t even think.
Could this be a deadly riptide, or something even more ominous? Irony struck. How could I drown when I could breathe underwater?
Chapter Three
Fabulously Flushed
The underwater tornado swirled around me. Faster and faster, the water storm whirled and sucked. I twisted and turned like flotsam caught in an upside down waterspout. I felt like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Dizzy, confused, and terrified.
My mind kaleidoscope-ed. I couldn’t drown. Instead, I’d twist and turn forever like a constant merry-go-round—minus the merry.
The water couldn’t hurt me. But a shark could devour me. Bacteria could infect me. Crabs could pinch me to bits.
“Ahhhhhh!” Panic swirled and scraped and spit. My brain blurred. “You need to focus.”
Focusing on the problem helped my brain clear. Options presented themselves in bullet points.
At the age of ten, a determined reporter had cornered me alone after the show and started asking questions about “how I stayed under water for so long?” and “what was the trick?” It was the first time I realized my abilities were different from most people. I spent a lot of time online researching oceanography, lifesaving and survival techniques, and yes, even mermaids. I learned if caught in a riptide, the victim should swim parallel to the coast, not fight the strength of the current.
This soaked twister wasn’t a riptide, but I could try the same philosophy. Now I had plan.
I quit fighting the tide and forced my body to relax. I went with the flow. Spinning with the circular motion, I lay on my back and reached my arms out. The force of the vortex pushed my body toward the outer limits of the whirlpool.
Finally, progress.
Flipping to my stomach, I stroked with my super strength toward the edge and fought the tendrils of the storm trying to grab and bring me back into the swirling motion. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. My arms ached with the effort.
My muscles trembled and sharp pains shot up my legs with each kick. Two inches forward and one inch back. Even with my strength, I stroked a losing battle. This thing was way too powerful.
I’d die and no one would realize I was gone. My life meant nothing to anyone above the sea. The depressing thoughts slapped me with exhaustion. No one would care. Why bother? My body sagged and I stopped for a second. Why go on?
Because I had to.
I needed to warn people about the dangerous whirlpool, needed to protect the sea life, needed to fight. Struggling, I reached the surface. The whirlpool still clutched me in its grasp but I saw the night sky.
“Pearl.” My name whispered across the dark ocean.
I couldn’t see anything. Thick fog had rolled in blanketing the surface. Besides no one knew I was out here. No one knew me. Period.
Tiredness seeped into my bones at the thought of my aloneness.
“Pearl!”
Was I delusional? Or in this case, hear-lusional? I giggled at my brain’s pathetic attempt at humor. I must be dying.
“Pearl. I’m almost there.” An angel leading the way.
Instead of heading toward the light, I was swimming toward the voice. Nothing could be normal for me. Not even dying.
“You can do it. I’m only a few feet away.”
Using my precious reserve, I lifted my head out of the water. A brown head bobbed in the surf only ten feet away, holding a red rescue tube.
An inner light glowed warming me inside. “Chase.” His name squeaked past my cracked lips.
About fifteen yards behind him, a small boat rocked in the waves. Another guy manned the boat and held the rope that attached to the tube and Chase.
“I can’t get any closer or I’ll be sucked in. You have to swim to me.” The sound of his voice lifted me, made me try harder. “Kick.”
Someone would notice my absence. Maybe even care.
My heart swirled around in my chest. Chase cared. Maybe not about me specifically, but about me as a person, as another human being. I wasn’t all alone. There were other people out there. People I could meet, get to know, maybe even become f
riends.
I reached out and plunged my right arm into the surf, then left. Right. Left. Right. Left. I told my feet what to do. Used the rhythm of my inner voice to motivate.
A few more feet. My hand hit the plastic tube and I grabbed for it. My fingers slipped but Chase took hold of my wrist. Relief passed through me and my body shook like a massive earthquake. Aftershock after aftershock, I couldn’t stop the shaking. I was going to be okay.
Chase grabbed my waist and held on with long, strong fingers. “I got ya.”
I raised my head and stared into his blue, blue eyes. The lines of stress seemed to lighten around his firm lips and square jaw. Water dripped down his drawn-out face.
“Thanks.” Totally inadequate but that’s all my numbed brain came up with. I’d never needed help in the water before. This was a new experience and I didn’t know how to act.
Which made me question everything about myself. If I couldn’t handle the Pacific Ocean, how could normal people?
He signaled to the guy in the boat and the rope tightened. We were tugged toward the rescue boat with Mermaid Beach printed on the side.
Drained of all energy, I relaxed against Chase, loving how his sinewy muscle protected me. Shivers of something other than cold took over my body but because I felt like an over-cooked noodle, I couldn’t appreciate the sensations.
When we reached the boat, Chase lifted me, while his friend helped pull me on board.
“I’m Cuda.” The curly-haired, blonde guy shoved a couple of white towels at me. “What were you doing swimming alone? At night?” His hard voice cut through all the shivery sensations.
I wrapped a towel around me and then ducked to twist my hair in a second towel avoiding Cuda’s glare. I didn’t plan to tell this guy anything. He meant nothing to me and I didn’t have to answer his questions.
Chase climbed on board. “Leave her be. You’re not on duty tonight.” He took a towel and rubbed his wet and goose-bumpy skin. The cold water affected him and yet, he’d dived in to save me.
My hero. Saving me from the turbulent ocean and Cuda’s questions. The shaking on the outside turned to quivering on the inside. Chase had helped this morning with the boy and the otter. And now, he’d risked his life to save me.