Artificial Tides

The pillars of glass rise out of the ground like glacial formations, teeming with miniaturized ecosystems. Fish of the brightest blues, yellows, and greens swirl among the coral and the seaweed, darting to and fro in bursts of speeds that catch the attention of the wide-eyed children that dash from tank to tank. At the top, beautiful black tipped reef sharks circle. Lavinia can't help but imagine them as a nervous lover, pacing back and forth, waiting for their date to arrive. Around and around they go in circles, yet never get anywhere.

Her sketchbook lays open on her lap, a half drawn image of an octopus upon its page. As a large school group begins to filter through the door, she places her hands on the wheels of her wheelchair and propels herself forward. She weaves among the tanks, splitting the sea of people into two as they hastily move out of her way. She wheels close to a tank where several seahorses are tethered to swaying strands of seaweed and flips to a new page in her sketchbook. Her previous subject, seemingly having figured out he was being watched, had quickly retreated into a crevice in the rock, and she was in need of a new muse. As the pencil glides across the page, she keeps her eyes fixated on the swaying form of a particularly small seahorse. Its head bobs in time with the artificial current, almost as though he was listening to music. She glances down at the paper and began to flesh out the rough shapes she had sketched. The sound of her pencil scratching along the page is lost in the sea of other conversations taking place around her. As she begins to add texture to their skin, she glances back up and notices that the small seahorse has detached itself from the seaweed and was now watching her intently.

"Would you like to see it?" she asks quietly. The seahorse cocks its head to the side. Unconsciously, Lavinia mirrors the movement. Then, she reaches down and turns the sketchbook towards the tank. The seahorse's gaze shifts from Lavinia to the page, and its head cocks to the other side like a dog when you call its name.

"It's you," she laughs gently. The seahorse scrutinizes the page and then, with what Lavinia swore was a small nod, turns and reattaches itself to the seaweed strand it had previously been on. Lavinia chuckles to herself and places the sketchbook back in her lap, reminding herself to add more details when she gets home. She pulls out her phone and checked the time. The aquarium wouldn't close for another few hours, but she wants to save enough time to see what she had really come to draw today. Putting her phone back into her pocket, she backs up and continues deeper into the aquarium. Along the floor is a stripe of blue, mimicking the ocean currents, and she traces them with her eyes as she continued on. The tanks gradually transform from cylinders into panels set into the walls, with larger and larger marine life in them. She hurries past the tank where the seals are jumping about. There was always a large crowd in front of them, and besides, they are not what she came for. The tanks seemed to fly by as she follows the blue line until it ends against one of the tanks. This tank was huge, and able to be seen from two different sides, and she naturally migrates to the one with more space. After all, she wants a great view of them.

The sandy bottom is littered with rocks and coral. Small fish swim lazily by, but Lavinia barely registers them as she stares at the magnificent creatures before her. She can see them gliding through the water, like leaves dancing on the air. In the tank, swim three beautiful manta rays. Their black skin glistens in the artificial lighting as they dance along one another, fins flapping like the wings of a bird, but infinitely more graceful. As they veer around at the edge of the tank, Lavinia can see flashes of their white underbelly and the gentle flare of their gills as they process the water. She can't help but smile at how beautiful they were.

She quickly flips the half-finished seahorse over and smoothes down the blank page with her hand. She quickly begins sketching their rough outlines. It seems like they are a family, a tightknit pack moving in tandem. They bob up and down around each other, never touching and never stopping their beautiful and complicated dance. They reach the other end of the tank and begin to circle back towards her. She continues to scratch at the page furiously, then--frustrated-- turns to a new page and begins again. For seven more cycles of the tank, Lavinia sketches them, each time getting closer to what she desires, but never quite reaching it.

"You're still so tricky!" she mumbles to herself, repositioning her chair to get a better angle. She is sure by now the staff knows her as the "manta ray girl" for how many times she had visited. No matter how many times she had tried to draw them though, she had always been unsatisfied. The images never seemed able to catch their grace and their beauty. The forms were there, but the life that made them so alluring to her was elusive. She looked down at the latest reiteration. It was close, much closer than any of her previous attempts, but something was still missing.

She sighs and pulls the bag draped around the back of her chair into her lap. Gently, she closes the sketchbook and slides it into the front pocket. She should go home, catch the next bus which leaves in twenty minutes, but she can't force herself to leave yet. She smiles up at the tank where the manta rays still swim relentlessly, and props her head up against one of the arm rests with her hand. She could watch them for hours and never tire of it. Her side of the tank is empty apart from her, and undoing the locks on her wheels, she begins to mirror the manta rays' movements. As they glide through their space and she glides through hers, she can't help but image herself as one of them, being pulled along by riptides, surrounded by the vast blue nothingness of the ocean. Together they flow, back and forth, with only a thin panel of glass between them. She imagines the velvety feel of their skin against her hand as she finally stops her somewhat manic loops of the tank.

"Right," she says, shaking her head at her silliness. The bus leaves soon, and if she misses this one, she'll have to wait over an hour in the cold for the next one. Swinging the bag back over her seat, she turns around and begins to head towards the front exits. Still, she can't help herself and takes one final look back at the manta ray tank. To her surprise, all three of them have stopped their circling and are watching her go. She smiles again and, feeling awkward, she gives a small wave. "Don't worry!" she says. "I'll be back next weekend!" Seemingly satisfied with her answer, they resume their circuitous route around the tank. Lavinia shakes her head one more time and, with the prospect of a late night refining her sketches ahead of her, she wheels herself out the door and into the warm glow of the setting sun.