The Mermaid's Song

Dangerous Games

I didn’t return to the beach for the week.  For the next week, I didn’t sleep.  I would doze fifteen minutes here and there, then jerked awake.  I would snatch twenty on the bus home, only to be awakened by a pothole.  The thing with insomnia is, when you do sleep, it’s not normal.  You’re still fully aware of what’s happening, and you never even get much of that pseudo rest.  My mind would not stop wandering enough to allow myself a night’s peace.  I had to content myself with sleeping for fifteen minutes in class during the science video or the in backseat of the bus on the way home from school.  To make it worse, my dad was up before me every day and he came to check on me every night.  He was on my back night and day, without relenting.  He wasn’t going to let me go anywhere, anytime soon.  But one night, while sitting at the dinner table, I took upon myself to be the shining son and refill his wine glass.  And I kept refilling, every time it was dangerously low, I was there, with a smile and a refill.  By the end of the meal, he was grinning at me fondly, telling me about how proud he was of me.  He was passed out on the couch by seven muttering about mom and snoring loudly, and I was at the beach by eight, walking quietly out of the house.

                As I stepped out of the house, I could feel the humidity in the air.  The air seemed to cling to me, weigh me down, and sit heavily on my clothes.  Halfway down the block, my clothes were damp.   The sky was dark with clouds, and they looked full and pregnant, ready to burst.  I made my way to the beach, ignoring the impending storm; a little rain never killed anyone.  By the time I was there, I was beginning to doubt myself.  Thunder had started to boom across the sky, sounding like a tympani roll, long and gradual. The waves already seemed angrier than ever before, pounding the shore, roiling like a pot of boiling water, threatening anyone who touched them.  My symphony was taking on an allegro pace, fast and rushed, and it made me uncomfortable. My soothing symphony had disappeared and this new, fevered music promised me no sleep. It made my heart race, and my head pound, thrilling and dangerous all at the same time. But the rain held off, and within minutes, I was asleep.  

                I slept deeply, and I didn’t wake when it first started raining.  I woke up when I was soaking wet and cold to the bone.  The storm was in full swing, even worse than I had imagined it would.  The wind was trying to pry me from the ground, spitting sand into my groggy eyes.  The waves were only three feet away from me, and they looked ready to pull me under and devour me. 

                But, above the frantic crashing of the waves and the whipping of the sea, I could hear her singing.  My melody was undoubtedly there.  She was singing more beautifully and powerfully than ever, rising above the fierce storm.  Her voice swelled to hit high notes and dipped to reach the lower ones, making every sound perfect.  I couldn’t make out the words, and, without hesitating, I moved towards the rocks.  I knew it was a bad idea, with a storm like this raging around me, but the sound of her voice cresting over the waves held me, transfixed, and I followed it. 

                The closer I got to the rocks, the farther away her voice was.  It was unusual; she had always sat in this spot.  I felt the water attack my feet as I stumbled towards the rocks.  Slowly I was losing my sense of direction, just following the sound of her singing, indistinct but beautiful.  The water was around my knees now, and frighteningly cold.  I started to realize that what I was doing was reckless, that I was only wandering aimlessly, but I couldn’t turn back.  The voice held me, and I followed it.  The water was at my hips, rushing and ferocious. Suddenly, a wave crashed into me and I sunk down, down in the water and I began thrashing.  I felt myself tumble around the ocean waves and scratch against the rocky bottom, a sharp pain went up my leg, and I knew there was a gash.  The water was weighing me down, preventing me from reaching the surface, smothering.  I needed oxygen, but it seemed miles away.  And just when I thought I was going to keep on sinking with no hope of reaching the surface, I was thrust through the roiling waves. I sucked in a breath full of air before the vicious waves forced me back down again.  I could feel them pummeling me, their currents trying to rip me apart, twisting me every direction.  I couldn’t touch the bottom, and I couldn’t see anything because the water was so dark.   The sound of the sea above me was slowly fading from the vicious roar to a dull hum. I began to give up on struggling, and let the water carry me down, down.  My limbs were going numb from the frigid ocean temperatures and they floated around me, useless.  I said my prayers and as I felt the saltwater seep into my lungs, filling up the empty and deprived space.  I struggled against the pain, but it was useless. 

                And then, two arms latched onto my shirt and began to yank me upward.  The strong even upward strokes were inhuman.  These were not legs that were propelling me to the surface; they were stronger and more precise.  They were smooth and powerful, they knew what they were doing, and they were bred for water.  I felt myself sag within the hands that grasped me so tight.  I struggled to keep conscious, every second aware that I was slipping away from this world.  When I finally broke the surface, I had forgotten how to breathe.  My lungs wouldn’t work. When they started to, I began to cough up seawater and it burned my throat and nose, eyes and mouth.  My feet finally touched the beginning of the shore but I collapsed before I could take a breath.