The Importance of Believing in Mermaids

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Mel and her friend Kaylie are sunning away their innocence, their legs lined up and waiting behind them. Mel reaches back and adjusts the bottom of her American flag one-piece, which, we discovered this morning, is too small. She’d cried and said it was a baby suit anyway and why couldn’t we go shopping? I promised we would go soon, but that there just hadn’t been enough time. There is never enough time. Kaylie is wearing a pink bikini with a padded top that makes her look sixteen instead of twelve. They had been at the beach for an hour before Mel finally took off her cover-up; I want to tell her that there will always be something to hide.

I reach into the cooler for another hard lemonade. The bottle is sweating and I pour it into a plastic cup and drink it down before it gets warm.

I squint out at the water, searching for mermaids. When Mel was younger we would stare at the ocean for hours trying to spot one. We’d practice our mermaid, swimming out past the waves, our legs held firmly together and smacking down hard into the sea, backs caving in and out of the water.  The theory was that if we could perfect it, if we could move just like them and prove ourselves worthy, they would make themselves seen. We would swim with them and we would belong. One day, after a long session, Mel had said, “Mermaids rescue people. Maybe they don’t come to us because we aren’t in trouble.” I had told her that everyone is in trouble in some way and that maybe we just needed to try harder, that we could lift ourselves higher, that we could be more graceful.

Mel’s father used to watch us from the shore; he grew up on a farm in Iowa and never learned to swim. After a while he stopped watching us and started watching the girls on the beach. Now I imagine him back in Iowa watching the swim of cornfields, but I don’t know where he is for sure. After he left Mel stopped believing in mermaids.

The girls have turned onto their backs, offering their tiny glistening chests up to the sun. Kaylie has one knee slightly bent, which flatters her stomach. That she knows this instinctively is what makes the girls circle around her. Mel is the girl whose body has fallen behind, who tries too hard and whose laugh comes out wrong. Whose dark curls can’t be tamed and whose bathing suit is too baby and too small. I know how this will go-one day soon Kaylie will close the circle and Mel will be standing outside of it. By the time they reach high school, Kaylie will walk by Mel in the cafeteria as if they had never spent a day together on the beach. I want to tell Mel that her secrets aren’t safe, that she should give them only to me or keep them inside.

I twist open another lemonade and light a cigarette. Mel notices and props her body up with her elbows, her leg now bent at the knee. “You’re so disgusting,” she says. Her lip is jacked up and she rolls her eyes at me before dropping back on her towel. I think of how easily I could wound her. I could mention co-ed baths with her cousin. I could sing, or bust out some sandy disco moves. I could tell Kaylie in a sweet voice that most people grow into their noses, eventually.

Instead I rub out my cigarette and ask them if they want a sandwich.

“What kind?” Mel asks.

“Peanut butter and jelly,” I say. I take one from the cooler, but the lemonades have crushed it and the middle is now a fresh bruise.  I suddenly want to cry but instead I hold up the sandwich and laugh. The laugh comes out wrong and Mel perks her head.

“My mom gave me money for the snack bar,” Kaylie says. “But thanks so much anyway.” Her voice is cheap bangly bracelets and right then I can see the rest of her life sprawled out in front of her.

I stand up and the sun in my eyes and the shifting sand makes me list. Mel is watching; waiting for the wrong laugh to bubble over and spill out into something darker. Later I know she will accuse me of being drunk, but I only had four lemonades. I won’t be driving for hours and it’s my day off.  I steady my legs and try to stand nonchalant. “Anybody want to go for a swim?” I ask. Mel is digging her toes in the sand and I can see the sweat beading on her face. For a moment I remember her nursing, how she would pull away and my milk would dribble from her lips. She looks at Kaylie, who says, “No thank you, Mrs. Router.” I can tell Mel wants to cool off but she reassumes her position and I am dismissed.

I can feel Mel’s eyes on me as I maneuver around the umbrellas and coolers and towels and make my way toward the water. It is early summer in New England and the water is cold. I wade out to my waist and then dive in. Right away the haziness is gone and I am strong. I dive over the waves until there are no more and then I turn onto my back and float.

When I drop Kaylie off her mother will come to the door in her office clothes, her hair perfectly styled and lipstick recently applied. She will thank me, telling me how grateful she is that I was able to take her daughter for the day because she had an important meeting, or a big presentation to give. I will try to flatten the sea from my hair and I will tell her that Kaylie was no problem. Mel will look at her feet as Kaylie’s mother asks me how my job at the restaurant is going. I will say it’s fine, the tips are fine. But all of us will know she is reminding me that she is more important than I am, that I shouldn’t forget the world works in this way. Mel and I will stop for take-out on the way home. I will suggest a girl’s movie and Mel will watch it with her computer on her lap and I will fall asleep on the couch to the blip of Facebook chat.

I tread water and look out toward the horizon. If only I could get out that far I know I could swim like a mermaid. I know they would come to me and I would belong. We would jump and dive and swim and I would be so graceful. I tighten my legs together and pump the sea. I stretch my arms up over my head and I spin.

After a while I hear a whistle but it is distant and I do not understand it is aimed at me. By the time I realize, people are standing, lined up to see what the lifeguard is so insistent about. He is waving me in; I’ve gone too far to be rescued. I can see the pink of Kaylie’s suit near the edge of the water, but I don’t see Mel. She is embarrassed that I am being called out and has probably fled to the bathroom. I know there will be fall-out and I turn and look back at the horizon. For a moment I think I could do it. Just keep swimming until I’ve gone as far as I can go and then see what happens. But then I picture Mel, standing in a dirty puddle by the sink as she stares into the mirror at her wild ocean-air curls and wishes she had a different life. A different mother. She wouldn’t have worn her shoes and the dirty water would be seeping into her skin.

I turn and breast stroke back toward the beach. I’m planning my speech. “What?” I’ll say and hold up my palms. “I was just swimming! That lifeguard needs to chill, don’t you think?” Mel will laugh a little bit in front of Kaylie to play it cool but her eyes won’t be laughing.

That’s when I see her. The American flag cresting a wave. Her legs are tight together and she is slamming them into the sea. Her hair is streaming perfectly behind her, and she is graceful, and right then I can see her life spread out wide in front of her. I think I can hear her saying, “Wait!” as she swims and spins her way toward me.