Page 5 of Sharkbait
Is it right next to me? Or miles away?
The sound rattles my brain one minute, then my ears strain to hear it the next.
My whole body startles.
“Oh my God, what was that?”
Something slithered against my leg. Was that an eel? A jellyfish? Aah, it just did it again. I’m freaking out. Under normal circumstances, I find all ocean creatures fascinating, thrilling even. But these are not normal circumstances.
Because right now, I’m treading water, surrounded by pitch-black sky, lost in the literal middle of nowhere with no clue how I got here.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
My heart starts to pound.
How long have I been in this spot? How deep is it?
“You need to start swimming,” a voice says.
“You think I don’t know that!?” I shout. “IknowI need to start swimming. But you never tell me which way to go!”
The only response I get is the clang of the buoy.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
I could choose to swim in one direction and hope it leadsme back to shore, but what if I pick the direction that takes me farther out into the black water? What if I never find a place to land?
Wait a second.
This is familiar.
All of it.
The water. The black sky. The sounds. The confusion. This has all happened before. How do I keep ending up here? What is wrong with me? Why can’t I…?
Eeeeng! Eeeeng! Eeeeng!
I shoot up in bed with a gasp.
Like every morning, I instinctively smack the crap out of my alarm clock until it stops blaring.
I know plenty of people who swear on those sweet bird-call alarms. Or the fancy light-emitting ones that simulate the glow of the rising sun, making your room steadily brighter and brighter until you crack your eyes open with a smile, give a little stretch, then yawn and pitter-patter down the hall to happily start your day.
Yeah no.
If bird sounds or sunshine did the trick for me, I would just open my damn window.
This girl needs her old-school alarm with the glaring red numbers and the blaringeeng eengsound to rattle her bones and catapult her to consciousness.
I blink my eyes and steady my breath as I scan the unfamiliar room. It takes a few moments for me to realize where I am.
I’m in my new apartment—my friend Calliope’s old apartment—in Philadelphia. I took over her lease a few weeks ago when she and my brother made the decision to cohabitate. They are disgustingly in love. This place is just on the verge of being out of my price range, but it was too great of an opportunity to turn down. Clearly, it doesn’t quite feel like home yet. I make a mental note to hang up some artwork and photos this weekend. Putting my own touch on the place will help, right?
I roll over and reach for my phone. I know all the Zen experts say to never check your phone or social media first thing in the morning if you want any semblance of inner peace, but I just I can’t seem to break this particular habit.
Ugh. Another text from my mother.
Mom:Honey. Please call me back. It’s been way too long since I’ve heard your voice. I’m starting to get worried.
