All the Women in the Family
From her bedroom in the tower, in the castle, on the cliff, the glassy sea seemed motionless; a shining slab of indigo ice beneath the brittle crescent moon.
Many an evening was spent communing with the waves, while she sat in the cool, damp sand, and let the starfish murmur sweet nothings to her tender toes. Many a morning, she would wade through swirling mist to the very point of the jetty beyond which the shark fins circled, waiting for her to join them.
Her people, pallid of cheek, with raven hair, were often mistaken for mermaids or vampires, but neither was entirely so, for they did not have such fine singing voices as to cause young men to swoon, nor did they drop into neighbors’ living rooms unannounced, claiming that they never drank…wine.
The bitter reality was that, like the selkies of Celtic lore, she and those who came before her were tied to the sea, from birth to death. The salty brine ran in her soul the way blood ran in her veins, and often she would slip into the dark water at the end of the jetty and the sharks would swim races with her, and the dolphins would later lead her back to shore, where she would emerge and stand naked in the cool night air, rivulets of ocean running down her body, and her heart would be glad.
Often. But not tonight. For tonight she was to meet the man her mother insisted she marry, and instead of gliding through the inky ocean with the sea creatures who were the brothers and sisters of her spirit, she would paste on a pleasant smile and simper through the obligatory social niceties, and when she laughed, she’d make sure the young man who had been chosen would never see the way her sharp teeth glinted in the firelight.
He would be nice enough, earnest, able bodied, neither too ugly nor too handsome, but with the shining eyes and glossy hair of one who would complement her perfectly. Their hands would meet when they danced, and she would steal his warmth away, ever so slowly.
They would marry, and in a year, perhaps, or two, she would bear a daughter.
On the day her daughter turned seven, she would lead her by the hand, and introduce her to the creatures of the sea.
Her daughter would be like she was, of course.
All the women in the family were.
Written on 10 October 2008, for the Anniversary Project at Cafe Writing.
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