Out of Water

There had been rumors. An ancestor a few generations back. A great uncle on my mum's side. Cousin Marjorie who always wore the really high turtleneck sweaters, even in July. 

          "We all know why." Larry smirked.

          My mother slapped the back of his head. "We're not that kind of family," she snapped. 

          But Marjorie was no longer invited to family gatherings.

          Even before the marks first appeared on my neck, I knew. My siblings were bold and unapologetic. Bright, fast, strong. They jostled for the front row in every family photograph. I lurked. Hid behind pillars. Startled easily.

∘˚˳°∘˚˳°

It was October when I first woke to find my cat, Boy Cat 3, looming over me, a trail of drool glooping from his open mouth. By November, he'd progressed to nibbling my fingers as I watched TV. By December, his bites had become insistent and painful. I lured him into his carrier and took him to my mum's. 

          "Allergies, " I told her, tugging my sleeve down to cover the toothmarks. "They're really playing up this year." 

          Her eyes flicked over me.

          Boy Cat 3 watched me leave, licking his lips.

          There were other signs, of course. The realization I could now swivel each eye independently of the other. The way my skin mottled and changed to blend in with the decor at nightclubs when my ex appeared. My unpredictable behavior in the presence of a seafood buffet. 

          In February, I started popping my collar or wearing a jaunty bandana to hide what were now very obviously gills. It became harder and harder to stay away from the seafood counter at Loblaws. 

          I bought an encyclopedia of sea life and flicked through its glossy pages, pausing at marlins, lionfish, and sharks. But I suspected something meeker. Something that really liked crustaceans.

          And then, at the end of April, cousin Sean got married. 

          On a boat.

          I had found a dress. It was short, stiff, and scratchy and looked like a sandpaper funnel, but it was the only one in the sale section with a high collar. I had brought a present (a nice frondy plant that Sean or Mrs Sean could easily hide behind). I had only been there fifteen minutes when the wind blew from the south and the smell hit me.

          I staggered and clung to the starboard railings. That briny tang. That sumptuous saltiness. The irresistible call of a seafood buffet. 

          I lurched into the cabin and lunged for the table, sending the chowder sloshing. Green beans Almandine squelched under my elbows as I slid towards the center platter. Using both arms, I scooped an entire shrimp ring into my open mouth, mashing their tiny, delicious bodies into my maw. I rolled onto my back, snapping my jaws to catch snow crab cakes and lobster bites—each glorious morsel thrilling down my gullet. And then I registered the silence.

∘˚˳°∘˚˳°

I stood by the destroyed appetizers, my dress soggy and shapeless, red seafood sauce dripping down my chin. While the staff was mopping up pools of shrimp bits, I tore off the hideous dress and slipped over the gunwale.

          The water surrounded me like an explosion. My legs began to meld, curling backwards like a fiddlehead. My arms shrank, retracting like a tape measure, shriveling into tiny, feathery, fluttery fins. My gills gulped in the saltwater.

          My mum rushed to the stern of the boat where my head bobbed above the water, my mouth stretching out, out, out, out. She hitched up her skirt, creaked to her knees, and gently wiped the red sauce from my chin. She smacked away tears sliding down her cheeks. "Oh, love."

          I snapped my jaws and caught a delicious, salty tear as it fell. "What am I, Mum?"

          She peered. "Oh! Oh, I see. You're a seahorse, pet." She sniffed and blinked rapidly. "Well, that's nice. A prehensile tail is always useful." She stroked my scaly cheek. "Pop up the St. Lawrence to the ocean and then head south. Just follow the current. Cousin Marjorie's in the shallow waters off Varadero. She's a Blue Striped Grunt. I told her I thought you'd be on your way soon."