Cranberry Clairvoyant (Azealia Banks Story)

Sand and Satisfaction

I woke up with my eyes so heavily caked in boogers that I could barely open them. One of my hands, which lay under my side, had fallen asleep, and my other hand just felt a bit too lazy to clean my eyes out. So I lay there on the sand, eyes shut tight, only using my other senses—including memory—to figure out where I was. And when I was able to recall the events of yesterday, I figured that part of my eyes’ inability to open (for the love of God!) was the fault of my dried tears from the previous day.

Darrius could be sitting right next to me, behind me, or maybe in front of me, watching me sleep. I could imagine him now, his bottom planted firmly into the sand with his knees raised a good few inches away from his face, and his arms resting loosely on his kneecaps. His hair would be disheveled and so would his beard be; those, along with his skin, would be slightly coated with sand. He always had sand on him, and I didn’t. I liked it that way, believe it or not: the minor difference between us, the one thing that set us only a little bit apart even if it didn’t make sense.

My eyes managed to open themselves somehow, and when Darrius was nowhere in sight, I found myself wishing he’d been there like I imagined. I didn’t want him there to apologize to him—because I still don’t know what I did to him that was so wrong—but just to see him, his mellow eyes and sandy arms and legs.

Only Agnes was here for company.

“How did he come up with your name anyway?” I called out to the sleeping beast. She opened one of her large eyes only for a bit, to show her mild acknowledgment of me.  “How did he think of Agnes?”

Agnes wasn’t replying, though I never expected her to. If she did, I would probably dive into the water and swim for my life. Because I mean, no matter how uncanny things get, sea monsters just aren’t supposed to talk.

Hell, they aren’t supposed to exist either.

“He’s such a kind bastard,” I continued to rant to her. “Sorta makes me feel like I’m a bad guy, like I deserve what I got from him yesterday. All he’s ever done is treat me nicely, even back on the ship when Ezekiel would bother me and what not. Darrius was always nice. All he ever did was do nice things for me, and protect me, and stare at me with those damn pretty eyes…”

“They aren’t that pretty, are they?”

I looked back, alarmed, only to see a sandy Darrius striding toward me with a little crooked smirk nested on his mouth. He’d been only a few feet behind me the whole time, listening to me! Warmth flushed my cheeks as I turned my head bashfully, wishing I’d taken the time out to check my surroundings before thinking aloud.

I didn’t answer his question, so he added: “I named her Agnes after a dog I have back home. Agnes just seems like a suffice name for female pets to me.”

“I was talking to her, not you.” I informed him, refusing to give him eye contact. From my peripheral vision though, I could see it: butt to the floor, knees up, and arms resting on them. As he formed his famous pose, I couldn’t help but smile, for a reason I couldn’t really identify. Maybe there wasn’t even a reason.

“You never answered my question.” Darrius said.

“Yup, and I’m not going to; that’s the reward you get for eavesdropping.”

He sighed dramatically and said, “How magnificent.” I giggled and then he suddenly turned to look at me, and I had no choice but to look at him too. My face probably answered his question for me—of course his eyes were pretty, they were beautiful. They made me feel raw, in a good way, as if I was shedding old, dead skin and becoming something new. “If you can forgive me for what I said yesterday, it would mean a lot to me. But if you can’t, I understand. I just hope you’ll at least be comfortable with me for the rest of the time that we’re here.”