The Skiff

At first, Eric didn’t notice the storm. The confidence of a first-born son blinded him. But soon our skiff gave it away; the small boat that was once lolling gently was now rolling like thunder.

Eric sighed. "The wind is picking up."

I nodded.

"Don’t worry," he cheered, patting my knee. "I'll get us turned around and back to shore. Don't worry."

I nodded, even though I knew he was wrong.

You see, I wasn’t worried. The wilds of the ocean had always been more home to me than the steady Earth. The pitching and rolling of my Father’s hand could no more frighten me than the undertow could frighten a sea creature. Like I said, it was home.

The rising and falling of my father's hand was always more graspable to me than the slow revolutions of Mother. She was gentle, imperceptible, my Mother Earth. And I longed for capsize.

I also knew that Eric would not turn the boat around.

"You’ll be alright?"

I nodded.

The sky became an angry charcoal color and howled with supernatural longing.

"I'm coming, Father," I whispered. Of course, the whisper never left my mouth. No words ever had.

Eric saw my lips part. “Are you trying to say something?” He abandoned his oars and scurried across the skiff's slippery belly to my side. “What is it? Can you try again?” I looked up.

His gaze reeked with distress. But as I looked closer, I saw that it also spoke of hope--of a persistent curiosity that flickered somewhere behind his pupils, like a candle at the end of its wick. When you can't speak, you learn to read the eyes.

"Are you afraid?" He asked, trying to read my thoughts.

I nodded, lying.

"Me, too. But I promise." He clasped my knees again. "I'll get us home."

I nodded.

Again, he was wrong.

In a sweeping gust, the bow of our skiff rose from the tips of the waves like a bird taking flight. It sent me and Eric tumbling to the stern, somersaulting over oars and limbs and knocking our heads together. A ferocious crack echoed above our heads and the atmosphere became silent for a moment, sucked of sound like a vacuum.

Then, boom! Our bodies shook as they were pressed into the skiff floor, glued against the black wood. The floor was slick with rain and as smooth as polished ebony. Eric shuddered by my side.

I breathed in. Salty droplets filled my throat and slid into my lungs, embedding themselves into my organs, my lifeblood, my very being.

With the force of the towering sky kingdoms above me, I released a great sigh. The dark clouds overhead swam closer through the murky skies. They reached their arms out to me and bent low.

"Ariel? Ariel!" Eric's eyes flashed with panic. They were white, a soft white like the underbelly of a surrendering fawn.

I wasn't listening. With great breaths I exhaled the salt, the sea, my soul, from this human flesh and I rose to meet the clouds. Together, we swirled into the escaping waves and twirled together into a a mighty sea-wind that soared through the gale.

We surrounded the skiff like a lotus flower, embracing it with a gentle cocoon of petals, holding it, protective as a mother. Then we dove into the sea.

"I'm coming, Father," I sang into the dark.

Eric didn't hear my song. The skiff still sat upon the waves, capsized or upright I did not know. No matter to me. That was not my world. That was not my home.