The Mermaid's Song

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My father and I left for home later that afternoon.  The car ride was silent. My dad refused to talk to me, or even acknowledge my presence.  All my comments went without as much as a blink.  He was giving me the silent treatment like he was a twelve year old. When we got home, I did no asking, no talking, to trying to get through to him at all.  I just went straight to my room, where I stared at the ceiling in a trance for hours.

                I didn’t go out that night.  I don’t know why, maybe because the events from the night before still seemed so surreal. Or maybe because I was afraid that I would have to thank whoever had saved me.   I was fairly certain that it had been the singing girl, seeing as the tail matched the strong appendage that had been propelling me to the surface.  Part of me still denied the existence, telling my frantic mind any possible excuse that made logical sense.   

                But the next night I did go back.  And there was no girl, no singing.  My symphony was out of tune and of tempo, slow at times and fast at others.  Nothing seemed right.  The sand felt too coarse, the wind was too wet, everything was off and out of balance. I was still puzzling over my previous escapade, questioning my motives.  I asked myself why I had followed the voice. I asked why, even when I realized it was hopeless and deadly to continue, had I not stopped? No, more importantly, why had I not been able to stop, why was there something compelling me to continue, telling me I must find the singer.  Remembering how it felt, the sensation of being trapped within my own body, unable to control it, made me shudder. 

                Sleep did not come easy, but it did come.  I slept a fitful, finicky sleep, one filled with strange dreams.  I thought I woke u at one point and heard singing, but it was too distant to be sure.  I woke up when the sun rose and walked home.

                Being home was no different than the beach.  Nothing felt right at home. There was no Mom to putter around the house in the morning, no brother to tease.  And there may as well have been no father either.  He ignored me, never once looked at me.  My days became as silent as my nights. 

                Days were nondescript, standard, and mundane.  I walked through them in a haze waiting for my nights to come.  But each night I was disappointed by the lack peace. Night after night I returned to the beach, and night after night I was disappointed. My symphony seemed to be in order again and  I never lost sleep. But it wasn’t the same symphony, it was weak and plain, only a shadow or a shell of the orchestra it had once been.  Sleep was still fitful and even unpleasant.  It was devoid of that decadent voice that seemed to weave its way into my head, leaving me refreshed in the mornings.

                Finally, one night, my music was regaining its normalcy. I had followed my usual schedule and fallen into a fitful rest, when I awoke to that voice.  I lie still for a second and just let the beautiful sounds of it wash over me and fill me with a strange joy.  At that moment, I decided on my action plan. 

                I walked over to those familiar rocks, the ones I kept such a close eye on every night.   I approached at an angle, hoping to give her a warning, not wanting to surprise her again.  I saw her tense and stop combing her hair, and her beautiful tones died on her lips, blown away on the breeze.  So here I stopped.  “Hello.” I said, quietly, it floated over the waves to her ears, and her face twitched when she heard it.  

                She was stiff and rigid, not wanting to face me, her body still turned to the sea.  She didn’t look at me, and she didn’t say a word.  At least she did not leap into the water again, leaving me disappointed and confused.  “I’ve heard your singing. It’s beautiful.” She didn’t look at me. “Please, I need to know something.  During that storm, was it you that saved me? When I was in the water, drowning and floundering, was that you?”