Saline (pt. VII)

I went to Balboa Beach one time for a bonfire with some friends. I always felt so lonely and loved at the same time when I was in front of a bonfire. But when I stepped away to feel the cold lick of the sea, I could sense the way there was no fire left in me. I was more like the crescent ghost moon that punctured the inkiness of the night, reflecting in indigo silver over the waves that crashed in such a quietly chilling, chanting way. At that moment, I was sure that if I was alone I could just walk into them and never come back again, and I was only disturbed to realize I believed this was a moment of beauty.

* *

Jasper certainly came unannounced, but we were no where near the ocean. We went out on our first date to a fish taco joint in the city. I should have just been honest and told him that lately I had been feeling sleepy and was hoping he would wake me up, so he could have said No up front. Instead, I told him things I never should have said, like how I would take the ability to breathe underwater if he chose to have wings, so I could take him through the sea as long as he would fly me through the sky. Like how I told him the things that I had learned, namely how the Fourth of July was the most lonely holiday, how nice it would be to cuddle in a blanket on the beach with a tin of brownies. I eventually realized Jasper didn’t understand these things, the same way he did not understand the composition of the saltwater that would run out of my eyes from time to time.

I finally realized there was a practical joke going on that wasn’t funny. The ones I had wanted to call beloved were ubiquitously afraid of the ocean. Those that I knew that were not afraid had already fallen in love with sirens; one siren was Pride, another was Marijuana, the other was my roommate Robyn. 

* *

Never try to be a land mammal when you think you’re tired of feeling like just another fish in the sea. The body and spirit do not exist without each other, Aristotle mentioned. Neither does the dolphin without the wild ocean. 

* *

I put on my torn painter’s jeans again. Heaps of paint were squeezed out from a drawer-full of Liquitex tubes. Photographs on a laptop screen guided the way I mixed the paint with knives on my thrift store plate palettes. Three shades of blue, phthalo green, alizarin crimson, burnt umber, cadmium yellow & oxide, and massive amounts of titanium white. 

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