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Water Boy

3/29/2020

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I met him out at sea. He was adrift, and I had a boat that I eagerly wanted to share for I had, quite mysteriously and inconveniently, forgotten how to steer and how I had gotten that far out upon the open water all by myself. His relief at the sight of me made me feverishly curious about him. And although the way he had eagerly approached upon noticing me had flattered and excited me then, I realized later that he wasn’t so much attracted to me as he was to the boat in my possession. Once I helped him aboard, he quickly took control - not even stopping long enough to dry himself off... or learn my name - and as I watched him, I began remembering. 

I began to awaken from my seabound amnesia. I had fallen in love with waves that had appeared to me as a woman. As to how I acquired the boat, she inspired an urgency within me to create, to build, to manifest. The details remain fuzzy, but I so clearly remember the sight of my bloodied, splintered hands - surely the evidence of my personal labor. I had built for her a boat made of wood, cloth and innocence. I recall the backs of my friends, the men who helped me to build the purgatory-bound vessel as I yelled my thanks through heaving but contented breaths and they hung their heads, I thought in jealousy, but more likely pity. Thinking back, perhaps she was a siren - luring me into her current, waiting to drown me. Everyone watching from the shore had known it but me. It had been a beautiful day to sail, and the wind seemed to be on my side until... I was no longer in her good favor. Although... she didn’t care enough to kill me, she just left me out in open water and took all of the movement of the ocean with her. I had watched it happen - the moment she left, the moment her eyes turned cold along with the waters she commanded, the moment I saw her decide she was done with me.  I don’t know how long I waited there, somehow unable to think or feel or do. My consciousness had been put on pause as an act of self-preservation. At least I had a boat. 

He came out of nowhere. Or... my awareness of his presence did. Once I saw him, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was certainly beautiful to look at, but there was something more to him than that. There was something peculiar about him and I found that intriguing, and there began a growing hunger to know all that I could about him and what he was doing in the water. We stayed in the boat and spoke for an eternity that ended far too soon. I wanted him all to myself, and that, I suppose, made him long to be back in the water. I was selfish, but sadly couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t convince myself not to want him so desperately. That was something I learned from the woman of the waves - every story ends, everything hurts, everyone leaves. I was terrified of being alone again, of having my consciousness stripped from me after just having reclaimed it. I wondered whether it would feel the same - whether it would feel like death again.

I spoke to him as gently as I could, yet my voice still trembled with my own fear. I tried to paw at his past in an attempt to make sense of him, in an attempt to justify his treatment of me with his previous pains. I begged for transparency from him, but that all too familiar lack of care meant that he saw no benefit in being honest with me. There is nothing that he wanted from me so there was no reason, in his mind, for him to treat me with any sort of common decency or dignity. Someone had burned him once, so he thought it best to drown me because there was no way he would ever trust air again. The last time he had, it fed her fire and his world went up in flames. Hence his affinity for water, the only place he was safe from her and the only place where he felt he had control. The more I tried to hold on, the more he pulled away from me. We were locked in a cruel tug of war until finally, we fell overboard. We were tossed back and forth, the sea had found itself again. I realized that the woman of the waves hadn’t been the only determinant of the water’s movements - it was my brokenness as much as her callousness that had caused the eerie calm for I was of the water just as she was… just as he was. 

While I was thrashed about beneath the surface of the angry, stormborn waves, he appeared unphased. He eased through the chaos with such grace that I thought myself weak and strange for struggling to do more than just swallow sharp mouthfuls of seawater made saltier by my own shameful amount of tears. I thought myself on the verge of demise, so I thought it best to relinquish my struggle - I decided I’d much rather spend my final moments in attempted-peace than in peril. I succumbed to the darkness as he drifted away from me, undoubtedly off to find another boat he’d be welcomed to steer towards jagged rocks of nonclosure. 

When I awoke he was nowhere to be seen. The boat I’d built no doubt sinking ever further into the ocean depths. How fitting it was that the vessel of my over-giving and tainted pursuit of love had finally met its end as he had brought me to mine. I heard the faint and gentle crashing of waves lapping against the shore  as I lifted my hand to shield my tired eyes from the scorching sun that had come to envelope me. I sat up suddenly, sputtering water that had been forcibly housed in my lungs. My throat burned from the salt that I heaved in exchange for air. It all seemed like a terrible dream at that point. It very well could have been if it hadn’t been for the physical effects of the sea and sun. I was relieved to be done with him. Or at least that is what I muttered to myself as I rocked back and forth upon the burning sands of harsh reality as I openly wept for him and for the version of myself that had loved him, the version of myself lost to the sea… endlessly calling out to be found again by the water boy. 

Picture

Picture

Picture
I wonder if you think you’re broken
Your pain left unspoken
But it’s still so visible
That someone made you miserable
And made you scared. 
Frightened of newness,
Of openness. 
Horrified by me
Or a version of me
That could be like her,
That could hurt you
While she still haunts you. 
Do your memories of her
Sit enshrined
Upon the walls of your mind?
Or do they lay as ashes
Beside the fire she set in your subconscious
Where you tried your utmost to let her go?
You spent an age in front of the flames 
Relinquishing her name
Trying to disguise the redness
In your eyes
And the smell of smoke and sadness
Still clinging
To your skin. 

Dear Water Boy,
Tell me
Did I do anything to you 
Other than terrify you? 
Might I offer
My sincerest of apologies
For having run
Full-force into you. 
Would you believe me
If I said 
I’d rather feel nothing. 
I’d rather be back where I started, 
Believing that I was no longer
Capable of feeling this way. 
I’m drowning in your energy
My rational mind
Overthrown by what you mean to me. 
Water,
What have you done to me?
I could have sworn that you wanted me
Until you didn’t. 
I couldn’t
I still can’t 
Understand 
How I came to be washed up
On the sand
Chest heaving,
Barely breathing…
Yet,
Thanking the universe
That as much as I am 
Of water…
I am air. 
​
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The Owl & The Otter

3/29/2020

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“What you say?” Otter yelled skyward. Owl landed with a heavy sigh as his talons gripped tightly around a wayward branch that stretched out above the water. Otter, who had been lounging and wading on his back, quickly turned and slipped under the water, later emerging closer to the riverbank. “What did I tell you about mumbling?” he mused, running his paws over his face.
“What did I tell you about listening?” Owl retorted.
“What you say?” Otter said again, gently tapping the side of his head. “No, really. I have water in my ears.”
“I can’t help that my voice is carried off in the wind,” Owl said somewhat exasperatedly.
“Why not just wait to speak once you’ve landed?” Otter paused. “Stupid.”
“Between the wind and the water that is permanently in your ears, it really doesn’t make much of a difference.”
“So are you about to tell me what’s up, cause I’m about to swim off if you’ve got nothing important to say.”
“Why are you so snippy today, Otter?” Owl stretched and flapped his wings. “Did someone steal your rock again?”
“Nah,” Otter said, his face suddenly brightening as he reached into the pocket under his forearm. “Got it right here. No way I’m letting that happen ever again.” He proudly held up a uniquely shaped rock – one side expertly sharpened.
“Be careful now,” Owl warned playfully. “Don’t drop it.”
A look of panic flashed across Otter’s face and he hurriedly stowed his rock away.
“Anyway, I came to tell you that there are new animals in the forest,” Owl said more sternly.
“What do you mean new animals? Like babies?” Otter rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t care about them kids, Owl.”
“I know. Not babies, new animals. The forest is at work again.”
“Why’d I have to end up in an enchanted forest? It’s exhausting.”
“Funny thing to say coming from an animal that takes so many naps,” Owl chortled.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Otter said, lightly splashing Owl. “You know I don’t get enough good quality sleep.”
“Because you’re the only otter to ever exist that cannot float,” Owl said, his voice muffled as he preened his feathers.
“I can float, just not for extended periods of time. How many times do I need to tell you?” cried Otter, splashing again.
“I’m dense,” they yelled in unison – Otter indignantly, Owl mockingly.
“You suck,” Otter said before rolling over into the water to swim to a large moss-covered rock under the tree where Owl was perched.
“Love you, too,” teased Owl.
“Now about these newbies,” Otter said grumpily. “What kind of animals are we talking about? And don’t waste my time if they’re insects – they don’t count.”
“Huh? Okay, whatever. I didn’t see them, I just heard them as I was flying over the canopy,” Owl said as he fluttered down to the embankment.
“Why didn’t you go and see?”
“I was already well on my way here and didn’t feel like stopping,” Owl paused. “Plus, I knew you’d be grumpy if I went to meet them without you.”
Otter watched Owl and felt his heart warm with pride. Owl was always pondering something, carefully calculating what he would do or say next.
“I want them to have a space where they feel welcome,” Owl said slowly. “A safe place…” A breeze picked up and blew gently through owl’s beautiful, dappled feathers. Otter shivered. “A haven.”
“You look like you’ve been thinking about this for some time, Owl,” Otter said almost half seriously. Owl chuckled at his playful friend.
“I certainly have, Otter,” he replied sagely.
Otter snorted and leaped back into the water, “Let’s go then.” Otter swam off, gracefully gliding through the water. He’d reach the north end of the river in no time.
Owl watched him for a moment with pride – his best friend – and was thankful for someone who understood him and backed him so fully. He knew there was nothing that he couldn’t accomplish with Otter in his corner… even if it was only as someone to say that they believed in him.
What a pair they made.
 
 

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    Jillian Lawrence

    South African. 20-something. Hopeless Over-Thinker.

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