In Constant Motion

There was a bench inside the aquarium entryway. On it sat a woman. She was in her late twenties, that time when adulthood really starts to set in: lines more pronounced, time falling like sand through clenched fingers, a sense of weight.

Her name was Liv, and she was waiting for her friend.

She gripped an iced black coffee in both her hands, trying not to drink it too fast. She was trying not to tap her foot, either, or swing her crossed leg too manically through the air. She checked her watch. Again. She forced her thick brown hair behind her right ear. Again. Not moving was hard for her. The waiting was the worst part.

Micah always was late to everything. Liv remembered that clearly. Not dramatically late, not disrespectfully late, but always arriving just a few minutes after the predetermined time. It irked her when every other person on the planet did that, but not him. His lateness seemed as much a part of him as his sea foam eyes. It came with him, a package deal.

They had agreed to meet here at 2:00. She looked down at her watch again; it was now 2:02. He would be due any moment.

Liv sighed, and, taking another sip of her coffee, the last of the frigid caffeine sliding down her throat, she remembered all the other times they had come to this aquarium while they were in college.

They had never decided on it out loud, but it became the de facto meeting place. The aquarium served them both: it satisfied her curiosity, her need to walk around; it sated his love of water and peaceful places. They strolled through the jellyfish gallery, the Amazon exhibit, the walk-through shark tank tunnel. Sometimes, they talked about philosophy or language or poetry or the ocean or whatever they had learned most recently in their classes. Other times, they said nothing for hours. She didn't mind it; unlike with most people, the silence between them was comfortable.

The silence was so comfortable that it was easy to forget that they were separate entities. The silence was so comfortable that they didn't have to talk every day, or every week, or, eventually, every year. It was like the water, forever moving, a vast expanse of waiting blue, and before they knew it, the current had carried them apart.

That is, until she had sent the email.

She heard the door open. She looked up. There he was, smiling with his whole face, the same thin face, the same green eyes, the same dusty reddish hair. All at once, she felt the years collapse in on themselves, the present moment touching the past. A wave overcame her, a wave she was not anticipating, a strange wave of relief, joy, and regret.

It was 2:04 PM.

She stopped tapping her foot. She jumped up. She put down her empty coffee cup on the wooden bench. "Oh my god," she said, a little too loudly, not knowing what else to say. "Oh my god, Micah, you look exactly the same."

He laughed. "So do you." He closed the distance between them in one stride, embracing her, even lifting her off the ground a little. She felt her eyes prickle, smelling him again. Exactly the same. Like a lake in a forest. Like the ocean. Like life.

It had been eight years. Eight years, and one fraction of a second.

Liv and Micah bought their tickets. They went through the turnstile and down the escalator into the first gallery. It was a small aquarium, and old by now. There were no movie screens or gazillion-gallon tanks with whale sharks and porpoises or massive gift shops as far as the eye could see. Liv loved this about the aquarium, and so far, it seemed like it hadn't changed at all since their last visit.

Neither of them could stop smiling. Liv tried to look at the fish, at the informational placards, at the eels, but she felt reluctant to let Micah out of her sight, as though if she let go, he would drift back into quiet nonexistence. But there he was, every time she turned her head.

They walked through the gallery, then past the hall of American Rivers, full of snapping turtles and salamanders. They didn't really have much to catch up on, because they had been emailing for months, ever since Liv had sent that first message. Still, they easily filled the minutes with words: What their families were doing. Where they had traveled recently. What they had read. What shows they had watched.

In the octopus room, they started reminiscing.

"Do you remember that Thai place we went to that one time?" Micah asked.

"Yes!" Liv answered, remembering. "And then we went to the concert in the planetarium or something?"

"Oh yeah! I forgot about that!"

In the Amazon exhibit, they talked about their careers.

"Do you ever regret not going through with your marine biology program?"

Micah considered this silently for a moment, then shook his head. "No. It wouldn't have been sustainable. I liked whales from a theoretical standpoint. I feel like focusing on people has a more direct impact."

Liv nodded. It made sense. Teaching seemed to suit him.

"How about you?" Micah countered. He was looking at the tank of piranhas, their protruding teeth and wide eyes almost comical behind the glass. "Do you regret studying literature and philosophy?"

"No," Liv answered, after a beat. "It might have been more practical to study something else, but it made me feel like a human." She paused, unhappy with her phrasing. "It made me feel like I was actually paying attention to life."

Micah nodded slowly. He was still looking at the fish, but a wistful look was emerging in his eyes. Liv thought about what she had said, and then considered what he might be thinking. Maybe it made you pay too much attention.

Or, Maybe it sucked you in more than you realized.

Or, Maybe you were so lost in your work back then that you didn't see what was around you.

Or perhaps he wasn't thinking any of these things. Perhaps he had released the past better than she had. Perhaps this was why he seemed to be doing so well, and recently, she was fighting to keep her head above water.

Their conversation trailed off then. It didn't feel like the comfortable silence Liv remembered. They exited the Amazon exhibit and entered the jellyfish gallery. This was a large room, and very dark. On every wall was a tank of different types of jellies: Some small, some large, all gracefully loping across the wide glass. In the dark, carpeted room, they glowed like ghostly lanterns.

Liv felt a weight settle in her stomach. A knot of guilt, tethering her like an anchor to the sandy sea floor. The tendrils of the past snaking around her heart.

She had known that Micah was in love with her in those days, but she ignored it. She pushed it down, burying it beneath the tasks, throwing herself into her thesis and classes and homework and telling herself that things were fine. Until they weren't. Until the darkness really set in. Until the ocean and the pool and the lake and every weapon seemed tempting. Until she thought about how nice it would be for everything to finally go quiet.

The silence that had splintered them all that time ago had not occurred naturally. She remembered now. It was not comfortable. It came from Liv. It was her fault that eight years had gone by. It was her fault that every relationship she'd had since then had crumbled, until the most recent catastrophe–the betrayal, the lies, the called-off wedding–had sent her spiraling back into that same black place.

That's why she'd sent the email to Micah. She hadn't even thought twice about it. He was the only one who came to her head that night. And now here she was again: weighing him down. Dragging him back in. But what could she do. What could she do.

The aquarium was arranged with its crown jewel last: the walk-through shark tunnel. Liv knew that there were other, grander aquariums in the world with more impressive tanks, more volume, and more animals, but to her, none compared to this one. She walked into the tunnel and craned her neck upwards, to the left, to the right, ending with the clear glass floor at her feet.

She had forgotten the wonder of it. It felt weightless, the sense of being completely covered in water, immersed in the life going on around her. She closed her eyes and imagined that she was swimming, the soft waves carrying her body there among the fish and sharks and coral. She stood by the railing, looking into the water. She held on. She took in a deep breath and let it go.

Micah was there beside her when she opened her eyes. He was smiling at her softly. Showing her that he was not upset. That he was there for her, as he had been all along. As she had not seen.

A blacktip reef shark swam right in front of them, catching their attention. Liv watched as the sleek gray creature sailed through the water.

"You know, I used to believe that myth that sharks have to keep moving, or else they'll die," she said, smiling at herself. "I believed it until, like, last year."

Micah laughed. "I think everyone believes that at some point. Then their minds are blown when they realize it isn't exactly true."

Liv chuckled. "Not you."

"Well, yeah, but I had a leg up on shark knowledge."

They laughed. They looked at each other. Then Liv looked back into the tank.

"Actually, I kind of identified with that myth," she said. "I felt like a shark, like I had to keep moving, like I had no other choice. Like if I didn't, I would die." She paused. "Like, if I stopped for one second and actually thought about everything, it would all catch up to me. And I would give in."

The fish continued swimming. Rainbow schools of tropical fish. A sea turtle. Rays. Bright blue water, shining lights. Liv heaved a breath.

"I know," Micah said.

Liv looked at him. At his peaceful eyes. At the relaxed, casual way he was leaning on the railing. At the way the years had not yet dented him, and the way he was still there for her. The way he swayed and turned with the tide, but yet remained steady, like the ocean.

"I feel like I wasted so much of your time," she said. "I'm so sorry. I just didn't..." she trailed off. "I don't know. It was a bad time. I don't know. I should have seen you. I feel like I've ruined everything in my life. I don't know where to start to fix it."

He held her then, in the tunnel beneath the sharks, while she cried.

"Start here," he said softly. "Just start here."

The sharks swam, in constant motion, although they did not necessarily need to do this in order to stay alive. The fish traveled in graceful turns through the water. The rays rolled gracefully along the sandy floor. Liv held on, feeling the support of someone solid after so long. Feeling the relief of stopping her motion. Feeling the waves crash around her, but not through her.

Not this time. Not anymore.