I'll be here forever

chapter 36

Percy had first learned that he could talk to aquatic animals when we'd walked in the grocery store and he was immediately assaulted by the freshwater lobsters in the tank begging for release. He'd stopped, and with a flick of his wrist, the tank wobbled and fell, smashing to pieces. He'd told me that he wished the lobsters the best and sent them flying out of the store on the wave of water from the tank. I didn't believe him at first, but when we heard one of the fish enthusiasts talk about how he caught a lobster in the lake the other day, I finally did.

Probably because of his ability to speak with the animals, Percy had snagged a job at the local aquarium. At night, to help me go to sleep, he'd recount the stories that the fish would tell him. My favorite had been the story about the man that rudely reached into one of the fish tanks, just to have a severe allergic reaction to something that was in the water. The way the fish had described the man turning purple in the face was hilarious, and somewhat satisfying. It helped restore the faith that bad people do face justice, however small it might be.

Percy had loved working at the aquarium. He told me that fish were the most unmaterialistic beings out there. They never wasted their breath on formalities or on being someone they weren't. Fish were honest and loyal, and you always knew you could count on them. He loved talking to them, hearing their stories, the bad and the good. They told him which people in town to look out for, because the fish were witness to many things people did when they believed they were alone.

He told me about all sorts of interesting animals that lived there. He told me about the snapping turtles in the freshwater exhibit, that only snapped at the other employee's fingers because they had been buying the wrong food for them; they were starving. He fixed that quickly. He told me about the pink jellyfish, about how they didn't talk much, but when they did, they spoke in unsolvable, gibberish riddles. He told me not to trust the goldfish, because goldfish were shifty, and he told me about the school of salmon that spoke in unison, and liked to watch the moving pictures on TV.

He told me about the insanely smart water snake, who was probably more intelligent than most people in the town. On his third day on the job, he'd watched it manipulate one of the more careless employees into opening its cage by playing dead. When they did, the water snake sprang out like a coiled spring and slithered away, while the employee ran around screaming. Percy had let it go, silently giving it directions to the nearest sewer, and where to go to avoid the road. The snake thanked him, and he never saw it again. He said that he hoped it had made it wherever it wanted to go. I said that I hoped he wouldn't assist in the escapes of any more wild animals, before the entire town's water supply became a zoo. Percy had laughed and said not to worry, most of the animals actually didn't mind staying in the aquarium anyways.

I thought that talking to fish was the coolest thing, ever. When, on occasion, my class came to visit the aquarium (it was the only attraction in town, and therefore, the only field trip option), Percy would point out which fish were which to them and launch into great detail about each one. He always gestured wildly with his hands while talking about them, and I loved how passionate he was. The kids did, too, listening to him talk, enraptured. I think I fell a little more in love with him every time.

Staying in that town, living somewhat normally, Percy and I had been closer than ever. Still we constantly walked the thin line between friendship and something more. I didn't know what we were, and I didn't care to define it. Did friends do the things we did? Do friends go through the things we did? Do friends hold hands, do friends hold each other at night, even if it's just to help each other through the nightmares? I didn't think so. We might as well have really been married, except for the fact that he'd never kissed me, or anything of the such. It had frustrated me much more than I cared to admit.

We lived almost normally like that for a long time, giving me just a taste of what my life might have been like if I were a mortal. Almost an entire year of not being on the run, almost a year of being regular people. We were just Percy and Daisy, not children of gods. Just us. It was nice.

That was, until the town was completely ravaged by a hydra. It took us ages and a flamethrower from the middle school science classroom to defeat it, and we finally did, but... it cost us the destruction of almost the whole town in the process.

They wrote it off as a tornado and happily set themselves to the task of rebuilding, but Percy and I regretfully left the small life we'd built together behind, to protect them. We didn't stay in a town longer than a week after that.

I supposed it was probably for the best, anyways. I had been starting to tire of the same old conversations, over and over again. It was like everything there seemed to repeat. Still, for a while, it had been home, and I felt a pang of regret for leaving it, and the friends I'd made behind. But I'd turned to face the drivers side, where Percy sat, driving, and I reminded myself that home wasn't a place. Home was with him.