River Ray

I wander within the mist-slick walls of the Dallas Aquarium with my family. Ferns and flowers cling to crevices and corners of stone surfaces. Above the frazzled palm fronds and cluster-branch canopy, skylights filter a silvery light in which all things are visible but shrouded in fog. Moisture dispensed from strategically placed nozzles collects in mossy clouds, a near-complete conjuring of tropical atmosphere, before dissipating. My children enjoy the droplets of water suspended in the air—refreshment made visible. And things are mostly wonderful if you don’t think too hard about the netting and the glass or the sloth being prodded into a better vantage point for visitors.

      In a small expanse of shallow, sandy water two arowanas swim in tandem curve, as if to make yin and yang except they are both silver. They are flanked by piraputanas, small moon-metal arrows with blood bright tails. An ovate shadow crosses over their forms, an omen of escape, and they dart away. Maybe not from fear of darkness per se, but in displacement of water. In the way I sense a shift in aura behind me and my back bristles, the erratic electricity running along my skin spelling his name. And although I envision my ex’s face so clearly in the water, when I turn the man behind me is not him. 

     He holds his body the same way, the set to his shoulders matching the smirk across his face. The embodiment of donning a backwards cap inset with sunglasses indoors. But the skin is all wrong in color and lacking the arm sleeves that capped my ex’s shoulders, wrapped his biceps, the way his anger always coiled me lips to limb. And now my body feels like an extremity, a foot or hand, fallen asleep, overcome by a numbing that signals both pain and relief as this stranger-man walks opposite my path.

     My eyes return to the water and the river ray that caused the initial disturbance. I watch the rippling waves of its wings as it swims away. In its wake, I search for the stinger that can mean barb and venom but is used mostly for defense, not as a means for catching their prey. Prey which are not made of the fish in this open tank. There is no danger here. Not for them; not for me. Not this time.