There's Something in the Water

I ran into a doorway today. Sorry. Let me correct myself. I ran into like five different doorways today.

At school. At home. In the bathroom. Everywhere.

My shoulders are just super wide. No. That's not right. They are statistically average for my height and even somewhat slim considering my weight. Still, I just don't fit.

It's not just doorways. It's desks. Every time I sit down, I've gotta shimmy myself into them and have trouble keeping them in line with the rest of the class.

It's cars. Whenever I'm behind the wheel, I can't get over the fact that a single wrong move could kill me – or worse, someone else.

It's conversation. I feel like an alien who is forced to interact with another species I have only heard about in storybooks.

I just don't fit. I've never fit.

I keep my head down, trying to melt into the crowd until the day ends and I can breath, but I'm oil. No matter how hard I try, I don't mix.

I live on a somewhat populated but small island off the coast of Japan. Some nights I'll make my way down to the beach and wade in the darkness. It's calming.

One night, after a particularly tough day, I put on a swim suit before going out and just sat on the water's edge, feeling the water rush between my toes and on my legs. I watched the stars for a little too long and woke up a few hours later, curled into a ball on the sand. I took a breath, trying to muster the energy to get up and wander back home with sand covering every millimeter of my body.

Then, in the moonlight, I saw something odd: an orb of sea water sitting in front of me without mixing with the sand. My first thought was that it was some sort of jellyfish, but that couldn't be the case. The area had a net and a reef protecting us from those sorts of creatures.

Without thinking too much, I tried talking to it. "Hello? What are you?"

Immediately, I heard my own echo, "Hello? What are you?" The glob then started to shimmer and shake before scurrying back into the ocean.

I spent the rest of the night on the beach, thinking about what happened. Unfortunately, that meant that I slept through most of the next day. Luckily, I didn't miss much.

The next night, I was on the beach again in my swim suit and on the edge of the water. This time, I started talking. Maybe to it. Maybe to myself. Maybe both.

"Hello?"

Obviously, there was no response. To be honest, I didn't even know if that thing, whatever it was, could respond. The night before was most likely some of oddly realistic dream. Some weird quirk of my own imagination I simply could not get out of my head. Still, I continued.

"Hey. I'm not mad. I just want to see you again. It's safe. You can come out."

Still no response.

"Who am I kidding? This whole thing is dumb. I don't even know what I'm looking for or why I'm here."

I curled up into a ball on the sand, just like the night before.

"I'm just tired. Of everything. Of people. Of places. Of things. No matter how hard I try, I just don't seem to fit."

I don't seem to fit.

I heard it. An echo, like the night before. I sat up and looked around. It would be nearly invisible in the water, so I didn't really know what I could even look for. I laid back down and continued.

"I was happy to see you last night."
I was happy to see you last night.

"I've just been struggling with life recently and it was cool to meet someone new."
Someone new.

"I promise I won't hurt you."
I won't hurt you.

"So, please, come talk to me a bit more?"

No response. I figured I had scared it off and sighed before rolling over and staring into the sky, but when I looked around, I saw it again. A glob of water, about the size of my head, sitting on the sand about a body-length away.

I held my hand out to motion for it to stay still, even though it would have no understanding of what the gesture meant. I then said, "Hey. Hey!"
Hey Hey.

That game me pause. The intonation of the echo was odd. I had originally said, "Hey" as a way to get it to stop. It used "Hey" as a form of greeting.

That was the first moment I realized that the thing I was talking to wasn't just some odd parrot-like jellyfish. It was a unique creature with it's own form of sentience.

From that point on, I began to live a double life, trudging through the day and waiting. Sun down. Head up. Down at the beach, where my friend and I would talk.

It bounced around, beckoning me to chase it. I would teach it to speak. We would just chill, watching the waves together.

Eventually, I realized that I needed to give it a name. I'm not good with names, but I really did my best. At the time, I was thinking about Amphitrite – the Greek goddess of the sea who is sometimes depicted as a personification of the ocean, itself. I figured the ball wasn't a god, but maybe a demigod. A herald. Hera.

A fine name.

One day, I was particularly down and sat on the sand without saying a word. Hera bounced towards me, as usual, before slowly leaning back and forth in way that almost resembled a curious human. It then said a single word, "Sad."

"Yes, Hera. A bit sad. It happens."

"It happens." Hera responded before bouncing on to my lap.

We sat in silence for a while before it said, "Happy."

"No Hera. Sad. I'm sad. I am getting better, though. Thanks to you."

Hera jiggled in a way that indicated I misunderstood it's meaning. It repeated. "Happy?" This time as a question.

"Hera. I don't understand. Sorry."

"Hera. Make. Happy?"

I laughed. It wanted to make me happy. "Sure, Hera. Make me happy."

The next moment, Hera launched onto my head, covering my eyes. I was alone, feeling the waves crash against my feet in otherwise pitch darkness. I heard it say, "Hera. Make. Happy." again before jiggling and causing my whole body to wobble to and fro.

I then started seeing things. A yellow dot near where the horizon should have been. A green smear to my left. A red splotch directly in front of me.

Then Hera jumped off of me. As a looked around, the world seemed unchanged except for one detail. Hera was no longer transparent, but glowed a vibrant array of different colors that seemed to swirl around inside of it.

Hera then asked, "Happy?" When it did so, the colors seemed to flash, illuminating the sand beneath it.

I immediately responded as if to a small child, "Yes, Hera. I am happy." But I secretly began to wonder what just happened.

The now colorful Hera then launched toward my hand and tugged me towards the water. It said, "Hera. Make. Happy. Hera. Go. Home."

To be honest, Hera was surprisingly powerful and managed to pull me up from my sitting position to my hands and knees, but I resisted moving any further and said, "Hera. I am already happy. I don't need to go for a swim."

It said, "Swim. No. Hera. Go. Home."

As it kept tugging me closer to the water, I noticed something shining off towards the horizon. It was more than just the moon's reflection on the water. It was an assortment of colors deep beneath the ocean's surface. Undoubtedly, it was Hera's family. The place where it truly belonged. Not here on the shore with me.

The moment that thought crossed my mind, Hera stopped pulling and let go of my hand. It said, "Hera. See. Sad. No. Take. Home."

It then pushed me back to a sitting position and snuggled into my lap before saying, "Hera. Happy." It's colors were slightly subdued, but warm. It wasn't excited, but content. Happy.

I wondered how it had known I was sad in that moment, but as I looked down, I realized the truth. I could not only see colors emanating from Hera, but I was actively projecting them, myself. My skin around Hera was now glowing and pulsing just the same as Hera was.

More than that, the colors had meaning. They carried depth and conveyed emotion in a way I never could with mere words. I guess it made sense that these colors were the primary way in which such creatures would communicate.

After some time, I told Hera, "I'll go home with you tomorrow, but I have to prepare first."

It then said, "Hera. Happy." While it's colors rhythmically pulsed.

Throughout the day, I silently wondered if anyone else could see my colors, but no one mentioned them. Either others were particularly kind or the colors were invisible to them as they had been for me just a day before.

That evening, I tugged my kayak to the shore and met Hera by the water. "Alright, Hera. Let's go."

"Let's go!" It repeated while hopping and flashing.

I got in my kayak and let Hera lead the way. It was way too fast for me to keep up with, but I did my best. Eventually, we made our way towards where the lights hid under the ocean.

And there we sat for some time. The two of us at the surface of the water, watching the colors below. It was nothing short of magical.

But there was a core problem. The lights were way, way too deep. Even if I could swim that far down, there was no way I could hold my breath for that long. Besides, even if Hera was friendly, there was no guarantee it's family was the same.

So I sighed and said, "Hera. Thanks for bringing me out here. Truly. Thank you. I can't go with you further. I'll meet you back on shore tomorrow."

"No." It pulsed, irritated. "Come. Hera. Want. Come. Come! Come!"

It must have seen the colors on my skin. It knew I was scared. It knew I was sad. But mostly, it knew I wanted to go. I wanted to go more than I had ever wanted anything else in my life.

So, without asking for permission, Hera tugged me off my kayak and into the ocean, forcing me further and further into the depths of the Ocean. It pulled my arm so strongly that I my shoulder must have been disconnected. As we descended further, I felt the pressure building in my head. My lungs were on fire. All of my instincts told me to move. Break free. Swim to the surface.

Yet I didn't.

I don't know if it was curiosity. I don't know if it was blind trust in Hera. I don't know.

I let Hera pull me as far and fast as it could, while I tried to hang on and hold my breath.

We passed what can only be described as a city of other globs. There were bubbles in bubbles in bubbles again. The globs flashed in mesmerizing ways. Some were dancing. Some were playing. Some were bickering about their day.

They were living.

Living in a way I never had before.

Suddenly, I realized I had swum too deep. I couldn't hold my breath any longer and I certainly couldn't make it to the surface. I knew it was my final moment.

I should have signaled for Hera to bring my back up. It would have understood. After all, the two of us are fundamentally different. Hera had to understand that we lived in two different worlds.

Yet in that moment. Knowing I was going to die. I found myself thinking a single thought, "I am home."

So I let the last of the air exit my lungs and began sinking to the ocean floor. Hera began pulsing wildly and pulled me up, as if asking what was wrong. I then smiled to it, trying to thank it for showing me it's home.

I then opened my mouth and filled my lungs with water, knowing that that would be my end.

In that moment, I curled into a ball, feeling every muscle in my body tense up. My vision faded to black.

Yet, just like before, I began to see colors. Purple. Blue. Red.

Hera. I saw Hera in front of me.

And her entire family. What might have been her mother and father. Her brother and sister. Her friends that had decided to tag along.

Suddenly, the entire community of globs had surrounded me, spinning faster and faster and creating a vortex with me at it's center. I saw their colors. I knew what it meant.

They were curious. Confused. Hopeful.

Happy I had died in front of them.

I guess I would also be curious about a human entering their world for the first time. Without knowing any better, I might also get caught up in the newness and lose sight of what was actually going on.

But wait.

I could still think. I could still see. I could understand these creatures in a way I had never understood the humans I had lived with for my entire life.

It was then that I realized I hadn't died. I had melted.

I was one of them now and couldn't be happier.

Also, for the record, I don't know what happened to my kayak.