Three Mermaid Tales

  "This is my favorite song," he says. "I love the harmonica! This makes me think of my Marine Biology classes in college."

  I can see why he likes this song - I decide I like it too when the male singer drawls, "Ocean girl, wanna see the world, wanna take a ride, on an ocean tide, with my ocean girl..."

  I start swaying on the couch to the catchy tune.

  As the chorus starts, Josh gets out of his chair and pulls me off the couch.

  Slowly, awkwardly at first, we start to turn together. He lifts his arm, and I spin under it. He takes me by the waist and leads me across the room and back again. And I no longer feel the pain of standing on my poor feet - instead, I feel like I'm flying.

  "That's it! You're dancing!" Josh remarks. "Maybe you were just nervous out there. I can tell you're a really good dancer."

  "Actually, this is the first time I've ever danced well in my life," I say. "Maybe I only needed someone like you to lead me."

  We dance through the next song and the next one after that, turning the tiny living room into a ballroom. I may have flunked my audition, but now I feel like a star. A small star...

  A knock on the door startles us out of our embrace.

  Josh opens the door and hands some green paper to the man who is standing there, holding a thin white box. He hands the box to Josh.

  Josh opens it, and the most marvelous smell drifts out. "Pizza?" he asks me.

  I nod energetically.

  He gets a couple plates, and we sit together on the couch. I try to mimic his motions, picking up the triangular slices in my hands and biting into the sensational concoction of steaming red and yellow stuff on a crisp brown platform.

  "What are you looking at?" Josh asks me, smiling when he sees my eyes following his hands.

  "You," I reply.

  When we're done eating, we get up and dance again.

  After several hours, my feet begin to come down from their magnificent flight, and I feel again the pressure of two heavy weights where my tail fin should be. Plus, the shoes feel like two hot little prisons enveloping my toes. "I think I need to sit down," I gasp.

  Josh takes my hand and leads me to the couch. As we sit down, he asks, "Do your feet hurt?"

  I nod. "These shoes are pinching a little."

  "Well, why don't you take them off?" he suggests. "I can give you a mean foot massage."

  "No! I mean, no thanks. That's all right," I stammer.

  "What's wrong? Are you embarrassed about your feet?" he asks me.

  "Yes," I tell him. If I take off the shoes, he will see something about me that I don't think he wants to see, so the statement is somewhat true.

  "First you're embarrassed about your house, now you're embarrassed about your feet... You don't have to hide so much from me. I only want to help you. And I can see you're in pain." Ever so gently, he lifts my feet to face him on the couch. "You're trembling," he says. "I won't hurt you."

  "That's not what I'm afraid of," I mutter, trying to hold his hands away from my shoes. But I'm not strong enough. I surrender, and he carefully slips off one shoe. Nothing happens. He takes off the other one.

  Suddenly, I feel my legs growing back together, molding into one tail. Lastly, my feet lose their heaviness and spread into green-and-pink fins once more. I look up at Josh.

  He's staring at me, his mouth agape. "Impossible," he breathes. He swoons and nearly falls off the couch, but I catch him in my arms.

  "Don't worry," I say. "I won't hurt you."

  Chapter Six - Josh

  I haven't had a drop to drink since my brother's wedding three years ago. I've never tried smoking anything - I hate the idea of sucking noxious gas into my lungs. But I fear some hallucinogenic drug must have found its way into my system. By morning, it still hasn't worn off. Anyway, I go along with it as the mermaid takes off her dress, revealing a showy sea star bikini. She takes my arm, and pulls me out the door. Luckily, my apartment is just blocks from the beach, so we don't have to walk and slide far before we get where she wants to go.

  "You're getting to see my house," she tells me. "Are you happy now?"

  Silently, I take off my sandals and place them in the sand.

  She pulls me into the water with her.

  I wade out until I can no longer stand up, then I swim with her. The pale water is cool and pleasant, and the sky overhead is painted the lovely colors of sunrise.

  "Do you hear the music?" she asks me.

  I close my eyes and listen. The waves crash along the shore, and sea foam bubbles in the rocking water. Seagulls cry from the sky. From a distance, I can hear the squeaks of dolphins. They're almost clicking to the rhythm of "Ocean Girl."

  I say, "Yes, Luna, it's beautiful music."

  "We might as well dance," she giggles. She takes my hand and rolls with me underwater.

  A school of silvery-blue fish appears like a tornado and envelops us, tickling my skin. And we all dance together. The ocean is our dance floor, the dolphins and seagulls are the music, and I hear Chelsea's voice as the announcer.

  Chelsea? My head pops out of the water, and I gasp for air, looking at the bluffs nearby.

  A small girl stands at the edge of the cliff, holding her cell phone out over the waves. "I told you, Mr. Smith," she calls out when she sees me. "Mermaids really do exist."

  "They sure do," I call back. "Be careful up there, sweetie."

  "Stop worrying," says Luna, her lips brushing my ear. Then she pulls me under for another dance.

  Epilogue - Luna

  I set the silver slippers on the same shelf as the sundress. Then I join my family, circled around the snowy box. Josh kicks the box with his handy-dandy leg, and I smile at him gratefully as our program comes on. The film is a little shaky, but it's definitely Josh and me, rolling in the surf, and we both look as graceful as two star dancers.

  "After this film went viral," explains the announcer, "we here at 'Dance 'Til Daybreak' decided to name these two unknown individuals as the honorary winners of this season. We'll still hold the competition, of course, and get real winners, but these two magical creatures hold a special spotlight in our hearts."

  Though I've seen this tape before, I squeal and turn to Josh.

  He gives me a high-five: a human gesture of approval.

  Chelsea runs over and wraps her little arms around my neck.

  I hug her back as she says, "Thank you for existing."

  Now I feel like a star. A big star.

  PEOPLE WITH FISHTAILS

  Prologue

  Gayle

  "Daddy, Daddy, look what I drew in school today!" I took the paper I’d carefully tucked in my folder and ran over to the mound on the couch. "She came to me in a dream, Daddy. She said she was going to come back for me." Since two days ago, I practically worshipped the woman with a silvery fishtail and pastel orange hair who’d wrapped me in a clammy wet hug and called me pet names like "my little bubble baby."

  He studied the drawing carefully, brought it right up to his squinty red eyes and looked it over, top to bottom. "You’re too old for this kind of crap," he sneered, taking a swig from the bottle on the coffee table. "Mermaids don’t exist!"

  "Well, this one was pretty sure she existed," I said defiantly. "She even gave me a scale of hers." I indicated the necklace I’d fashioned.

  "Mermaids don’t exist!" he roared, rearing up from under the matted blanket. "How am I going to get that through your head?"

  All that night, the sound of the paper ripping echoed against my skull, louder than it had been in front of the blaring TV news. The sight of the two halves crumpling like two pieces of a broken heart haunted my closed eyes. And I begged the mysterious mermaid to come to me in a dream again, so I could see her likeness whole, not broken by those meaty paws belonging to the man I had to call my father.

  Prologue

  Sander

  I knew I was using the last of the battery power, but I turned on the flashlight. I was scared and I wanted to know wh
at Daddy was doing.

  Outside, he had a saltwater pool with conditions he’d matched perfectly to the ocean. He’d told me with pride the other day, "I think I’m getting close to figuring out the secret to breaking a kraken. And once I do, we won’t have to worry about fuel anymore." In his office, he had all kinds of scientific charts and books. He said they were all pointing the way to the future.

  I peered out the window at the kraken pool, where Bessie lived. She lifted her tentacle-covered head out of the water, letting the rain wash down her pink skin.

  Daddy came out of the shed, pulling on a pair of gloves. With his jeans and tee shirt on, he hopped into the pool. He reached towards Bessie’s underside.

  She complained, groaning at the sky.

  He petted her, spoke softly to her, and slowly began to tug at her teats.

  Lightning lit up the sky. Thunder cracked and I was under my bed, praying Daddy’d come back inside.

  And he did. Sopping wet, sneakers squishing water all over my bedroom carpet, he beamed at me as I crawled out to meet him.

  "Son, I’ve found a way to harvest the milk," he said. "The trick is gentle coaxing, and you have to hold your hands just right and massage her properly. Now we have a sustainable, alternative fuel that will never run out like oil and can be produced en masse! And I’m the one who started it all." His grin looked grotesque in the weak flashlight as he told me, "This is going to be big."

  Chapter One

  Sander

  My college graduation was a joke.

  When the tired, old school band started halfheartedly playing "Pomp and Circumstance," all I could think about were my own circumstances – an orphaned graduate of the Petroleum University’s world-renowned Marine Biology program in a world where very little biological stuff remained in the ocean. With no employers looking to snap me up as a new hire and no parental basement to scuttle back to, I was cooked as a frozen burrito back in the dorm.

  When it was my turn to march mechanically across the stage and bask in the generic applause of other people’s parents, my eyes were not on the floor in front of me but inside my head, reminiscing on all the wonderful marine biological survey expeditions I’d conducted as part of my research project with Professor Weekling. The salty spray in my mouth, the catamaran buzzing on the surf beneath our deep conversations, the clouds in the sky echoing the foam below… an altogether idyllic experience.

  Too bad we’d never found enough specimens to actually conduct any research. He told me it was just the luck of the draw, but I knew better.

  When the Dean of Academics pinned the golden dolphin to my sleek black gown, all I could think about was the stranded dolphin I’d seen on my study abroad trip to Costa Rica, and how hard we’d tried to get her back into the water, and her red eyes closing as the sun bore down on her sunburnt skin. "It’s too bad," I’d said as we turned our backs on the carcass. "That may well have been the last one in this sector of the world ocean."

  Our guide had shaken his head, not understanding. Of course – no one but me knew all about KrakenGo.

  When it was all over, and the band had sighed away into nothingness and everyone else was waiting in line to shake hands with their favorite faculty members one last time and taking pictures with their families on the June-gloomy quad, I trudged out the gate for the last time. After a few blocks, I started to feel pretty stupid walking down the street in my cap and gown, so I stuffed them in the plastic bag I’d been issued in preparation for the day’s ceremonies. I wondered if I’d need the bag later to throw up in.

  I realized I must’ve looked like a homeless person, wandering the dock among the salty drunks and squinty sailors, lugging a bag of clothing, searching aimlessly. As if the horizon was inscribed with the answer to how to get an apartment in Simmerton Beach, as if one of the harsh faces of the boat owners strolling across the pier would melt into a smile and a job offer. Basically, I was a homeless person.

  Now a stray piece of newspaper tumbles across the boardwalk into my line of sight. I pick it up, intending to throw it away. But something in the classified ads catches my eye.

  "Job opening: Do you want to search the seas for nature’s treasures? Are you a qualified marine biologist, oceanographer, or ecologist? Interview at the end of the Simmerton Pier."

  Well, the description fits me pretty well. I’m fairly qualified, as a valedictorian Marine Bio major, and I’d love to scour the seas for whatever biological treasure we have left to show people they still deserve protection. So I stroll to the end of the pier.

  There, I find myself face to face with an ultra-modern ship, outfitted with invisibility tiles on the sides and an open-mouthed marlin figurehead in whose mouth I can spy a laser gun.

  Why would marine biologists need a gun? Protection from poachers and polluters?

  The captain, based on his fancy gadget-laden three-pointed hat, strolls out to meet me. He's got a hook for a hand, and a bored expression on his face. We’re the only two people around – didn’t other Marine Bio majors see the ad and get an uncanny sense of hope for their lives?

  I extend my hand, and the hook retracts into his sleeve and is replaced by a robotic hand for a cold and intense handshake.

  "What’re ya here for, boy?" He scratches his curly beard with his one real hand.

  I say, "I saw your ad in the paper, and I think I would be well qualified for the job. I graduated at the top of my class, and I’ve done a marine biology internship in Costa Rica surveying rare saltwater amphibians…"

  "Are ya prepared to pillage and plunder, to leave nothing a’ value behind, to travel the seven seas in search a’ biological treasure?"

  "Yes to the last thing. I’m not sure about – "

  "Ya studied marine biology, ya said?"

  "Yes sir. What was that about pillaging – "

  "You’re in. Welcome to the Pink Marlin crew. Mess is at six, the decks are swabbed by nine." He thrusts a clipboard at me.

  I grab the stylus for my electronic signature, and I’ve become a sailor on a ship with a noble mission. I got a job the same day as graduation – I can hardly contain my pride and excitement.

  Chapter Two

  Gayle

  I lean against the bar, where I have been stationed to serve drinks whenever one of the crew runs out of rum or whiskey. I don’t drink myself, and try to avoid even breathing in the alcohol surrounding me on all sides.

  The captain walks in with a new arrival – and suddenly things get a lot more stimulating. "This is Aleksander Wytewind," proclaims Foulweather. "He’s our new marine biology expert." With a friendly shove, Captain Foulweather propels the sandy blond with cute freckles my way. "Go say hello to yer pal over there," he chuckles.

  The man approaches the bar. He walks like he knows where he’s going, which is more than I can say for myself – and I was hired to this position months ago.

  "Call me Sander," he edits the captain’s introduction. "And what might your name be?"

  "I’m Abigayle," I say. "My friends call me Gayle." Not that I’ve ever really had any. "Um, if I may ask, what are you doing here? I mean, I was hired to be the ship’s official marine biologist. I don’t see why they would have needed more than one."

  "Why not? Maybe all these people are marine experts. After all, the voyage is to explore the ocean for hidden biological treasures."

  "All right, I just hope it doesn’t create a 'too-many-cooks-in-the-kitchen' kind of dynamic. Like, maybe one of us should be the official marine biologist and the other should be the assistant?"

  "Sounds fair enough. So who’s going to be the assistant?"

  "Um…" I’m trying to work up the nerve to let him know I barely passed Anatomy 101 and maybe he should take the lead, when the crew gathers around the window and begins making a lot of noise.

  Sander saunters over to the crowd, leaving me in the company of the bottles and barrels of alcohol. "What’s up?" he inquires of the others.

  Taffy, a sixteen-year-
old blissful beauty, breathes, "dolphins."

  I slip over and peer beyond the myriad heads to see the playful creatures – they look like bottlenose to me – weaving in and out of our wake. In the late afternoon sun, they gleam like the bronze pendant I received at graduation.

  "Indeed, dolphins. They are beautiful creatures, aren’t they?" Sander muses.

  He’s barely finished the sentence when the captain bellows, "All hands to stations!"

  Taffy scrambles to the pole in the center of the room and climbs up to man the sails.

  The others run upstairs to the cannons, except the captain, who attends a panel covered in a galaxy of buttons and levers.

  Sander and I are the only ones without a job, standing in the empty room. We hear a magnificent boom that rocks the ship and almost flings us against the wall. A chorus of several more follows. The ship pitches, and Sander and I slide towards the window.

  Outside, the dolphins that played in our white splashes just seconds ago now lie in clouds of blood in the water.

  The ship comes to a stop.

  "Good work, mates!" Captain Foulweather calls upwards.

  Nets swing down in front of the window and scoop up the lifeless forms, which drip blood and water as they rise into the clouds.

  Taffy comes twirling down the pole. "Some folks will pay a fortune for those dolphins taxidermied," she confides in Sander and me. "Oneye knows how to do it, but we haven’t seen dolphins for ages until we brought you aboard." She winks up at Sander. "Maybe you’re good luck."

  The captain comes over. "Now you see how it’s done. Maybe next time, you can join the raid, you two," he says, slapping Sander on the shoulder.

  When he walks away, Sander turns to me. "Okay," he says shakily. "That was a little weird."

  "I think we’re on a pirate ship," I whisper. "Environmental pirates. I read about it in Eco History class."

  "Professor Thomas?" He perks up.

  I nod.

  "So we went to the same school," he breathes.

  "We can forget about the assistant thing," I say grimly, realizing it’s not necessary. Neither of us is really here to collect plankton samples or research echinoderm mating behaviors.