Serengeti of the Sea

We met under the tall, majestic windows of the Kelp Forest Exhibit; a world within the Monterey Bay Aquarium that succeeded in caging human specimens inside a clear-glass portal. There, extraordinary visual access was granted to the tapering depths of the sea.

I was an awkward and introverted college freshman, you were a bit of a maverick and an aficionado for candid conversation.

It was a busy and crowded Sunday afternoon when you pretended to bump into me on accident. However, amidst the laughter of children and the fragrance of smuggled-in licorice and Sweet Tarts, I didn’t quite mind, even if I could hardly admit it.

“Sorry,” you said, leaning down to pick up my notepad and glancing up from the floor with a smile. Your eyes were butterscotch whiskey in the muted sunlight that poked through the green of the waves.

I stared at you; the nature of my mangled soul stopping me from outspokenly forgiving you, even though I truly felt that I ought to at least try.

“Did you draw these?” You asked, pointing down at my sketches and handing it back to me. You leaned in and peered over my shoulder at the sea kelp and starfish that jumped from the page. Your cologne was deep-noted and ambery, and it drifted into my nose like the essence of dreams.

“Would it be weird if I said no?” I joked. I felt foolish and dumb for my horrible humor, but somehow, stupidity always gave me a strange dose of vigor and mettle. I glanced back into the depth of your eyes, and they pulled me into your soul like the moon does the sea.

***

In my biology class, we learned that the Monterey Bay was known as the Serengeti of the Ocean; home to one of the most impressive assemblages of marine life in the world.

While I grew up in California, I admit I didn’t know much about coastal or saltwater faunas. As a child, I had always envisioned becoming a marine biologist. However, my idea of that, I’m horrifically ashamed to unveil, was daydreaming about dolphins while collecting the distinctive, brightly-colored Lisa Frank sea otter artwork that is typical of elementary school book fairs.

I was supposed to grow out of the idea, much like adolescents soon grow out of their fantastical childhood dreams of becoming professional athletes. However, it was an option I always secretly kept on a crumbled piece of paper; hidden in a tiny, tucked-away box. I knew there were more practical pathways for my future. Yet, in the aftermath of a bad breakup with my high school boyfriend, Ezra, I aborted all common sense when he suddenly swayed from our plans and revealed he would no longer be attending the place where I aspired to pursue my passion for art along with me: UC San Francisco. Devasted beyond belief, I secretly followed his footsteps to the coast, where we'd both also applied and been admitted to CSU Monterey.

“Are you stalking me now?!” Ezra's astonished voice echoed inside the walls of my mind. I couldn’t help but have flashbacks from the moment he'd opened the door and saw I’d arrived on his doorstep. There, his roommates peered at me from their spot in the kitchen in utter alarm.

For a moment, I answered him only with tears in my eyes. Then, I managed to voice a shaky and trembling response: “I didn’t think you’d leave without at least saying goodbye, Ez.”

He looked at me with an expressionless face, his mohagony eyes staring straight through the essence of a shattered being that was, and always will be, me. “I felt like I said goodbye when I said nothing to you.”

The dagger was dull as it pressed in and leisurely pierced through my spirit; the absolute quiet of nothing but silence wrapping around the slight width of my neck. Somehow, I still managed to breathe. I held out the 5-week-old ultrasound and pushed it into his face. “You never responded to this,” I said.

Ezra appeared deep in thought, then reluctantly pulled out his wallet. “Well, here’s to deal with it, then,” he said quietly. He handed me a thin deck of those papery, sage and white rectangles thought to solve problems. “And also to get yourself back home as quickly as you came here, Castelle.” He then closed the door (for forever) in my face.

Ezra wasn’t the first boy to hurt me. At the young age of eighteen, I seemed to be a magnet for heartbreak and pain. However, I think it was none other than Ezra that finally broke me. I was beginning to think I’d never be able to trust anyone ever again.

That is, until I met you.

You were like a warm, glowing fireplace during the sound of a rainstorm. We both studied the water but were drawn to the flame. You were a fiery essence that worked to unfurl my dark, troubling mystery; I was an ember placed in your path to be kindled and brought back from the dead.

You were a few years older than I and had managed to snag an internship at the aquarium, which was a highly desirable opportunity for any Ph.D.-aspiring student. Since you quickly came to realize I was really more of an artist than a novice biologist, you snuck me into your enchanting, underwater universe every Tuesday and Thursday, when I came to spend hours drawing the creatures I half-wittingly researched for my introductory courses.

I spent nearly the entirety of the day there, wandering through the submerged, aqua-blue windows that peered into the free-flowing world of the ocean, rocking back and forth as the waves met the glass. Mesmerized, I was swept into a spell via the spirals of glimmering fish. I always learned the most about creatures by drawing them. By etching their shapes and their movement on canvas, I observed their essence, their place, and their purpose in life.

It was true: I didn’t care much about the facts or the science presented in textbooks.

During your lunch break, we always met up in the place where we'd crossed paths on that Sunday and had locked eyes for the very first time. Underneath the allure of a romantic and watery backdrop, we stared into each other's eyes and basked in the feeling of mutual fervor. We quickly fell in love amid the magic of sea kelp and giant, silver-jeweled sea bass: your feelings displayed to perfection in the wide-open air, mine temporarily secret and hidden from view.

I was a bit of an adrift and vagabond soul, and though I wasn’t quite ready to admit it, you were always exactly what I needed. As I sketched and shaded the many living and breathing shapes of the water, your deep, calming voice built up my sea creature interest and intellect.

“Is this the first time you’ve seen that type of seahorse?” You asked me.

I lifted my gaze from the leaf-adorned stallion that swam on my page. Looking up at you, I answered you only with pyre and light in my eyes.

You smiled a charming and irresistible smile, understanding you wouldn't be hearing much of my thoughts that day.

“It’s called the phycodurus eques’” you said, “or the ‘leafy sea dragon’".

I raised my eyebrows and waited for you to continue.

“And just like a dragon, it has no natural predators.”

I couldn’t help but grin and secretly feast on the hue of your eyes. They were nearly the same color as the sea kelp in shade and glowed the same golden amber when met with the sun.

You proceeded to teach me all about the leafy sea dragon that day: its habitat, its diet, its lifespan, and its unusual reproductive and mating cycle. Each day that we met, you drew me closer to you with stories and facts about an interesting new specimen found in the Bay. Sun rays, sealions, snailfish and penguins; the list was seemingly endless, and you taught me about each of them all.

***

Completely unplanned and by accident, I ran into Ezra one day on my way out of the store. He was with another girl around our own age, and their faces were aglow with the luster of love.

His silence never told me a thing, but I learned that it told me all that I needed to know. I’d been wondering for a while if there was another. Now, in the bright light of day, I finally knew.

I caught his eye just as they passed me, and I felt his curious glare shift slowly down to the shape of my abdomen.

He had no need to worry. There was no longer anything there.

***

“Don’t you think it’s odd how they call the Monterey Bay the Serengeti of the Ocean?” I asked you one day as we watched a huge wave roll into the glass.

I felt your eyes come alive as you turned to face me. It was the first time that I’d spoken since the day that we met.

“What do you mean?” You asked, though I knew you knew exactly what I meant; you just wanted to hear my voice say it.

“I think it’s odd that they named a part of the ocean after a place on the land,” I said, “don’t you think so? How could they possibly ever be compared? The ocean is vaster and much less explored.” I felt your eyes caress my lips, and I suddenly felt terribly self-conscious. I began to blush. “I just think it’s an odd comparison, is all,” I finished.

And that was when you swung me into your arms and finally kissed me. And, for a moment, underneath the sea and amid a Serengeti of bubbles and creatures, we were one as we rocked with the waves.

***

I finally decided to tell you I loved you the day that you decided to tell me about the ghost shark. It was an enigmatic, highly elusive species that your internship cohort had been in search of for months, one that usually dwelled somewhere around 1,000 feet below sea level.

“Its scientific name is callorhinchus milii,” you said, “and we think - if we’re patient enough - we might be able to catch one on camera.”

I made a funny face. “I’m not really a fan of the Latin names,” I said, “tell me more about why it’s a ghost.”

You smiled and ran your strong hand through your inky black hair. “They’ve only been seen very briefly by deep sea divers,” you said, “you know, Castelle - I’ve been thinking. Maybe I should center my dissertation around this species of shark.”

“Around a ghost shark?” I asked, “I feel like…you’ll probably have a hard time finding exactly what you need.”

You pulled me in swiftly and kissed my forehead, and I felt my stomach pain with an incredible and uncomfortable laugh.

“Oh, God!” I exclaimed, “Don’t say it!” But it was too late: I knew exactly what was coming.

“I already have exactly what I need right here”, you said. Somehow, you managed to keep your voice sincere and unwavering.

I smiled, and a tear of happiness formed in the crease of my eye. “Te quiero,” I said, “It means, ‘I love you’. I might suck at Latin, but I do know some Spanish.”

***

The months passed and my courses at school ended and changed. I managed to pass my lower-division biology class just by the skin of my teeth, and I began to realize I didn’t need to pursue a degree in the realm of aquatic science just because my life path had shifted, nor just because I was now in the California epicenter of marine study.

Art was my passion, and of course, I still enjoyed drawing the sea. I continued to go to the aquarium, of course, because I still enjoyed you.

It was your last semester as an undergrad and your applications for your Ph.D. program were already well underway. You grew busy with the task of tying loose ends up with school and preparing for all that came after, but we still managed to find time to sit underneath the sea kelp and aqua-blue waves.

“We ended up getting footage of a lantern fish," you said as you rubbed a knot from my neck, "and also what we think was the tentacle of a giant sea squid.”

I rested my head on your chest as we watched two tiny crabs on the floor dance in the sway of the tide. “What can you really learn from getting these brief images?” I asked you.

“Lots of things,” you said, “migration patterns, habitat, mating seasons…just to name a few.”

“And you think you’ll learn this much if you’re lucky enough to get footage of the ghost shark?”

“Of course,” you said, and you smiled as you flipped through my sketches.

***

Spring came, spring ended, and the solstice of summer brought new animal life to the Bay. Outside of the aquarium, humpback and blue whales could be spotted among the waves; beautiful, gigantesque creatures that filled the tides with echolocation and songs, haunting and fascinating melodies that could almost be heard through the glass.

You and I were more steadily in love now. Ironically, however, I saw less and less of your face. While all the hustle and hurry of applying to the Ph.D. program had since simmered down, your excitement and enthusiasm for the ghost shark were now amped up as ever and running rampid in the places where the wild things were.

There was a team of geologists who had accidentally acquired footage of your almost-mythical ghost shark. When they realized what they had captured, they immediately contacted the Pacific Shark Research Center, and your team of Ph.D.-aspiring interns quickly flocked to the laboratories to study the film.

I was ecstatic for you, but also incredibly lonely. As always, I was meticulously absorbed in my art and continued to spend my afternoons sketching the fish. The only difference was that there was far less of you.

“We’re hoping to also get our own footage of the ghost,” you said to me one afternoon.

I nodded and grinned, just happy to finally be back in your arms.

***

The last time I ever saw Ezra was a hot summer evening in the middle of June. I guess I got what I had coming when I foolishly followed him out to the coast. Monterey Country was small, the college community smaller.

He was with the same girl and I noticed her belly had grown. Though I thought I was well past it by then, I wondered why it could never have been me. I wondered what in the world I could have possibly done wrong.

I wondered if the answer was that we were just simply too young. However, it didn’t seem to make sense: we were still so incredibly young.

He said nothing to me as we strolled through the park in passing. It didn’t so much matter that he refused to look at me. What mattered the most was that I didn’t have you by my side, but I knew I would see you the following day.

I knew I would see you under the depths of the water.

***

The next day it finally happened, and when it did, it began to unfold rather quickly.

I went to wait for you in the same place where we always met: underneath the great sea kelp and the roar of the waves.

I was holding my sketchpad tightly to my chest and peering out into the depths of the aqua-blue windows when the news on the overheard monitor suddenly caught my ears:

“The Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute has captured rare and elusive footage of the mysterious ghost shark,” it said, and that’s when I knew I wouldn’t be able to see you that day. Though I secretly pined for your presence, I smiled out of pure elation for you. You had finally found your shark. You had finally found your ghost.

I sketched a couple of otters and sunrays, then decided to leave early and head for home. I shot you a text letting you know that I missed you, then left the dark watery world and entered the light of the sun.

***

When I think back, I think you always knew exactly what you were doing.

My texts all went answered; my trips to our spot began to render my soul all alone. I always knew you’d be busy, excited, and fall in love with your work, but I never expected you to become the phantom that haunts the dark sea of my mind and my memories of you.

I never expected you to become what you so eagerly chased and sought after: a ghost.

***

I had ghosts before you, and I supposed I’d encounter them after. As I stepped up on the cliff overhanging the ocean, I remembered all the many phantoms I’d battled, fought, and overcome. You allowed me to open, reblossom, and refind my voice in the thick of them all.

And as I took a deep breath, I knew that the jump would only allow me to better fit into the patterns that had now become me.

As I fell through the air and submerged in the water, I, too, was now a ghost.

I was now a ghost in the Serengeti of the Sea.

***

I felt like writing something deep to represent the depth of the water.

***

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