Jello

Seal

I don't even know how it happened. Any of it. The wrong things. I can't believe I would do such low down things. The good things. I don't know how or where the goodness came from. Or even the realization that what I did maybe wasn't so bad. 

I'm not a bad person. Perhaps not a good one, but people tend to see black and white. There's more than being good, being bad. There's an in between, and one word can't really describe a person. Not even a collection of words. No, there's more to a person. A picture is lovely. A picture stays the same as long as it exists, or for the most part. A person can act lovely, but she or he is always, constantly changing. 

My parents died in a boating accident when I was three, and I've lived most of my life raised by my now 24-year-old sister Mira in a small town on the Maine coast. 

I loved it there.

The markets selling butter, clams, lobster, fish. Many of the seafood was imported, and while some people complained, I always liked the taste of a little all over. 

In a coastal town, a name like "Seal" seemed less odd.

But then Mira met Dani. The looooooove of her life.

*Five Years Ago*

I sat drawing at the round wooden table in the kitchen. My 9-year-old brain was content, swinging her legs under the table. 

My sister came in, her grey cashmere sweater matching her eyes, a smile she was holding back. It was a chilly, clammy autumn, like most. The Saturday sun shone through the window. Mira took online classes, so she had time to look after me and drop me to school. She worked weekday afternoons and had a carpool set up with one of my classmates.

She kissed my forehead. 

"Heya Sealy", she greeted, with an out of the blue good mood. 

"I'm gonna be out for a bit, promise me you'll hold up the fort?"

"Mmmmhmmm", I mumbled. Our small town was a safe, close-knit community, and I had been "holding up the fort" since I was six. We used to live with our aunt after our parents died until Mira inherited this cozy home from our Grandma Rayna (see, a history of odd and unusual names). 

She ruffled my hair. I sighed. 

"I miss mama", I said. I supposed this was true, but I really only assumed I should miss her. I barely remembered her. I had convinced myself I should miss her, so I did. She was my mama after all.  Her warm memories left a sweet aftertaste in my brain. As for my daddy, I remember sitting on his lap on warm Sunday afternoons him reading the paper to me in his big armchair, as Mira practiced the piano, laughing playing our favorite songs. So, I guess I really did miss them. 

"And Papa", she finished for me. "Me too, baby. They're looking over us now." Her smile briefly turned downwards, before her smile returned.

"Oh, Sealy, its gonna be okay though! I have to go...but everything will be okay", and she bounced out of the house. Needless to say, I was confused. 

After I heard the car drive away, I walked over to a framed photo of my parents holding me when they brought me home from the hospital. Mira, who was ten, stood with a bright smile grasping our dog, Rover's leash. The sun was shining in the background. Our boat stood proudly in the driveway.

Our boat.

The S.S. Harbor, named after my mom, Harbor Rikla Rift. My dad was Mike Rift. My mother met my dad while she was visiting her parents in Maine. My grandparents were all for it. Both parents lived there, and it would convince my mom to move there. 

But they were all gone now. All I have is Ella. Not even Mira anymore. Maybe physically, but that's it.  And every time I look at Ella, I feel like a fraud. I wipe a tear from my eye. Stupid Dani. Had to ruin everything. Thank you, Dani. Maybe ruined isn't so bad after all.