The bitter air singed the insides of my lungs like I'd swallowed fresh lava.
I coughed. And coughed. And coughed some more, until my throat was so raw that it felt as though a shark had taken a bite out of it. Then, the coughing finally slowed, until it stopped altogether.
I was breathing. It was ragged; uneven. The sharp edges of each inhale cut along my throat as the air sliced its way down to my lungs. But I was breathing, if you could call it that.
What does this mean? Have mer been able to breathe air this whole time? I didn't understand how or why this was happening, but I couldn't complain. Now that I knew I wouldn't suffocate, I could spend as much time in the overwater cave as I wanted, observing a little piece of what life was like in the Surface World. That is, only if this air-breathing thing got any easier.
I coughed again, a new shard of pain tearing up my throat, but thankfully it wasn't followed by more coughs. I shakily leaned back on my hands, watching the few humans that had arrived at the beach go about their activities. One human in particular had caught my eye; she was sitting at the end of the driftwood structure I'd discovered, the one that stretched outwards from the shore. That girl...I couldn't fully see her face from where I sat in the cave, but I admired her buoyant, dark-brown loose waves of hair that the wind blew over her shoulders.
It was fun to watch. I'd only ever seen how hair behaved under the surface; how long hair swayed like seaweed fronds that were caught in a current; so it was interesting to observe how different it was out of the water: each individual strand of this girl's hair played with every light breeze differently, making a pattern up as it went and then changing its mind, switching it up again.
I kept my eyes glued to that girl, whose gaze was fixed on the horizon. There was something about her posture, about the way she leaned forward eagerly, but held herself back at the same time...it was as if she wanted so badly to jump into the water, to be a part of it, but was reluctant for some reason.
What do you see? When you look out at the expanse of ocean, do you wonder what's out there, in my world? Like I wonder about yours?
#
Keeping my new habit to myself was difficult, but I had to. It's not like I could go around telling everyone I was breaking the law. It wouldn't be such a problem if I hadn't expected to return to the shallows after that first time, but for some reason I couldn't help myself from going back any chance I got. The thrill that buzzed through my veins from swimming through that kelp forest and seeing the surface grow closer with every finstroke was unbeatable.
I was surprised that it grew into the addiction that it was, as I found the shallows themselves to be quite dull. There were barely any fish, and almost no seaweed. Just plain, shallow water. I didn't know why I was expecting more; after all, they were just called "the shallows" for a reason. But against all odds, I couldn't ignore their call, or the call of the Surface World. It felt as if I were being slowly ensnared within an octopus' many arms, drawing me in, not letting me go. The pull was inescapable, and I couldn't explain why.
I was disgusted with myself for feeling that way. Why have I been so quick to disregard every lesson mer are taught from birth? Why have I been so quick to turn my back on my people? My friends, my family? What have I done?
But I knew that no matter what I told myself, now that I'd started, I couldn't stop going to the shallows. Their pull was too strong; I couldn't ignore it.
The overwater cave I'd found was one of the benefits of going to the shallows. It was in the perfect place for observing the shore without being able to be observed by any humans on the beach. Plus, while it was on the small side for a cave, it was much more spacious than my room at home. I got to stretch out my tailfin without hitting the wall on the other side, which was a welcome contrast to what I was used to. Another bright side: I was able to get lost in my thoughts without interruptions. That was probably my favorite part of being in that little cave.
I was dragging myself up into the cave now, taking deep, searing breaths of crisp fresh air. The burning hadn't gone away yet - it'd only gotten slightly less painful each time - but I was steadily getting used to the transition of filling my lungs with air instead of water.
As spending time here became part of my daily routine, I got used to seeing the same humans. Every now and then there'd be a new face, but I've found that now I'd usually recognize most of the people I saw. Especially that girl that sat at the end of the wooden structure I didn't have a name for.
What's her story? What's she thinking? I wondered to myself over and over again, watching her look out at the vastness of the ocean, appearing to contemplate its existence, never tearing her eyes away.
#
My eyes were closed as I took one last deep breath. On the exhale, I allowed my eyes to open slowly. I scanned the beach as per usual, watching as the humans went about their strange Surface World beach activities.
Protruding from this beach, extending out into the water, was that driftwood structure I'd seen my first day here at the shallows. During the time I'd spent in the cave observing, I'd heard numerous humans refer to it as a "dock," whatever that means. It never quite held my attention, as I couldn't decipher what its purpose was due to its lack of use.
That is, no one but that same mystery girl ever used it, at least while I was watching. Now, she was sitting at the end of the "dock", staring out at the early morning horizon. She sat as unmoving as a statue, and yet, like the first time I saw her, I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. My curiosity was piqued; I still hadn't been able to figure out why she never looked away from the distant waves. What does she find so interesting out there that she's devoting all her attention to it? Is she like me? Does she wonder what life offers in the world so close to, yet so far away from her own?
I felt an idea slowly forming itself in my mind like a pearl in an oyster. It was a dangerous idea, but at the same time dangerously exciting. Since my father and his team of hatchling rescuers didn't have work today, it would be the perfect time to execute this idea: even if their rescue site would have been nearby, none of them would be able to see what I was about to do. My tailfin was buzzing with anticipation as I edged myself back into the water. It felt as though I was no longer in control of my body; I didn't know what I was doing. I shouldn't even be considering this.
Within seconds I found myself fully submerged again, gulping relieving lungfuls of precious seawater, preparing myself for executing my crazy idea. What am I thinking? If I go through with this, I'd be going against one of the merfolks' most cardinal laws. Through the murkiness of the shallow seawater, I could see the dock's supporting beams as I swam closer, projecting my body further towards the unknown. My sensible inner monologue was drowned out by a new feeling; a thrill even stronger than what I experienced by simply going overwater and into the cave to human-watch.
I found my hands reaching above the surface, latching onto the edge of the wooden structure. The next thing I knew, I was pulling myself up, and when my face broke the surface tension of the water I instinctively drew in a deep breath before breaking into a fit of coughs. The girl that I'd only ever observed from a distance was now right in front of me, staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite interpret. I actually swam over here to talk to her?! I couldn't believe myself. What was I thinking?! I'm so -
"Are...you alright?" She asked, her voice like soft moonbeams dancing on the surface of placid midnight waters. When I finally caught my breath, I gained the courage to look at her, really look at her. Her face was twisted into a concerned but slightly disgusted expression as she stared at me with her striking storm-cloud-gray eyes. Her eyes...they were...leaking. I wondered if she knew.
Without thinking, I reached my hand up to catch the water droplet sliding down her cheek and presented it to her. "Your eyes...they're leaking," I whispered, my voice trembling. Great. Now those will be the first ever words I say to a human. Although, it hadn't hit me yet that I was actually, really and truly, talking to a human for the very first time.
As if embarrassed, she used one of her arms to swipe under her other eye in a quick, almost aggressive manner. "Yeah, it's called crying," she said, a laugh under her words, although it didn't sound as if she found anything amusing. She stared at me, her eyebrows drawing slightly closer together in confusion. "Who are you?"
"H-hi," I stammered, trying to get used to the feeling of air forming my words instead of water. Conscious that my tail might be easily seen by others at the beach - although at this time of day, no one dared enter the water yet - I moved it farther underneath the dock so as to keep it better hidden. I couldn't take any more chances than I already was. Oh, if my parents could see me now...I'd be dolphin food, I thought with a gulp. After taking a deep, shaky breath, I found the strength to introduce myself. "I'm...I'm Hart," I said, suddenly thankful to now know someone who had no knowledge of my real first name.
"Huh," the girl nodded her head slightly, wiping the rest of the stray water droplets on her face away with the palms of her hands. "Hart...what?"
My eyes widened in panic. I hadn't anticipated that question. "Uh...Just -," A small cough escaping my mouth cut me off, all this fresh oxygen I was breathing scratching my lungs. "Just Hart."
She narrowed her eyes at me inquisitively, but said nothing. I audibly gulped, yet she didn't seem to notice. Or she simply chose not to acknowledge how nervous I was. After what felt like an eternity of silence, but what was only a few moments of deliberation, she spoke again. "I'm Talia. Talia Mason." In the next second her hand was outstretched, poised in my direction. This wasn't customary for mer greetings, but the humans I'd observed on the beach did it from time to time.
I carefully lifted one hand, now only supporting my weight with my other hand that still clutched the edge of the dock, tighter now. I reached for her hand and grasped it, then shook it vigorously from side to side. I hoped against all hope that I was executing the gesture properly. After all, I did have to convince her that I was human.
Judging by the small giggle that left the girl's mouth, it was likely that I did do something wrong, but I didn't care. The sound of her laughter, light and graceful as it floated on the young morning breeze, etched a smile onto my face. "You're funny, Hart," she said after a few seconds, her eyes meeting mine for a single, heart-fluttering moment.
Not exactly sure what to say next, as I hadn't been trying to be funny - in fact, I was almost insulted that she found my best attempt at acting human amusing - I just nodded in agreement. "Y-yeah. A-and you...you are..." I had only known her a few short minutes, so I didn't know what I could contribute to the conversation. I just stared at her, letting my gaze travel over her warm tawny complexion, her piercing gray eyes, her vivacious dark-brown waves of hair...
"You're beautiful," I breathed, the words leaving my lips before I noticed I was even thinking them.
Talia's cheeks flushed deep crimson. "Oh...um...," she mumbled, biting her lip. Now she was the one at a loss for words. "Look... .Hart, was it? Well, we just met, so..." The last few words rang in my head. We just met. I mulled them over, the gravity of what I had done only just sinking in. Holy flipping shrimp tails. I'm talking to a human. My parents will toss me into the Endless Trench without so much as a blink if they ever find out about this.
I awkwardly and quickly muttered a farewell before turning around and pushing off of the dock for some momentum, diving as deep as I could. I thanked the Great Sea and Aqeus that this particular water was especially murky today, providing me assurance that human eyes would be incapable of discerning my tail from all the muck floating around. I made a vow to myself that, no matter how badly I wanted to, I would never return to the dock or talk to that girl ever again. It was too much of a risk.
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