The Big, Bad Brute

I happen to love the beach. A lot of my people do not particularly like it. Whether because of the crowds, the stench, or the noise, most sharks stay away from the surf.

Not me, though. I love watching people play in the waves, fish from the docks, or ride their surfboards. I know how they feel about me, though. So, I try to keep a low profile. I figure, it is best if they do not know I am there.

Yesterday, I decided to head down the coast and try my luck at fishing. Most of my family would probably laugh at me if they saw me at the beach. I am actually not that great of a swimmer. Nor am I a very good fisherman; not like those old timers on the docks, casting their lines tirelessly into the waves. Still, fishing is good fun and I wanted to relax.

The beach was already crowded when I arrived. I stayed on the outskirts, making sure no one had reason to fear me (or even notice me, for that matter). You see, I have a bit of a bad reputation. A lot of people gossip about me and my family. They say we are bloodthirsty and mean. They say we are predators. I am sure some of us are rather aggressive, but that is true of everyone.

I approached the docks, careful not to disturb the fishermen. I simply watched the sardines school and scatter. I was so captivated by their precise and orchestrated movement, I forgot to catch any fish.

In hindsight, that was probably a good thing. As I eyed the animals, I overheard several men gossiping about me. They stared at me suspiciously. I minded my business for a while, but when an old man lost his line and blamed me, I realized I had overstayed my welcome.

I stayed in deeper waters for a time, but soon I felt lonely. I watched from afar as many happy humans swam out to me. Then, without so much as a nod, they stood on their surfboards and sailed away. After watching a few surfers casually disregard me, I felt I should make an introduction or two. I approached a young woman.

"That seems like a lot of fun," I commented. She must not have heard what I said, as she tilted her head. "Maybe you could teach me how?"

The surfer's eyes widened. She screamed, "Shark!"

Panic ensued. Feeling embarrassed and knowing I should not have approached a stranger so carelessly, I darted out to sea. I watched as a hundred little legs fled from me. As they did, I cursed my mother and father for giving me such a broad frame and big body. I wish I was smaller, I frowned.

Luckily, I come from a pretty resilient family. We have survived a lot of catastrophes, you know. I waited for things to calm down on the shore before venturing near the swimmers again. When the lifeguards went back to their roosts, I knew I could approach safely.

It may seem odd. Why would a shark, so deplored by its environment, want to stay amongst those that hate it? Me and my kind might get a better reputation if we just stayed away. Or maybe the myths would grow until we were hunted. I do not know.

On that day, all I knew for certain was that I was hungry. I did my best to stay away from the beachgoers, but I wanted a snack. I got a few curious glances, a few doubletakes, and even a hasty whisper. Still, I made my way to the shore.

I got out of the water and quickly readjusted my swim suit. I looked at my black skin and realized I would probably need to put on sunscreen today. Although nobody could see the burns, I was hurt just as easily as the white people around me.

I approached the ice cream stand. I smiled at the young man behind the counter. "Could I please have a cookie-dough sandwich?"

I received only a confused blink.

"Sir?" I chuckled, half-annoyed and half-nervous.

"Sir," finally came the reply, but not from the young man.

I turned around and found two police officers staring at me.

Before I could say anything, one of the officers pointed at the water. "We have reports of a skulking individual matching your description. Please come with us."