Goodnight Shark
/Sometimes there is no answer to that question we ask our parent.
————
My dad is too far out.
“Dad, I scream, “Come back.”
I run past the sign on the beach. SHARK SIGHTINGS LAKE WORTH COUNTY.
“Dad!”
Quick toe touch of the cold December water. Lazy waves lap at the shoreline, but farther out, the ocean changes from calm bright blue to dark chop. Water reaches the top ruffles of my navy-blue swimsuit. My foot lands on a hard-shelled something. Below are black shapes.
I scream. “Dad! Dad! Come back.” But he keeps swimming away. I paddle out. No touching bottom now. I twist in a circle looking for shark fins. My heart races, but Dad seems strangely serene.
I scream. “Dad! Dad! Daddy!”
He turns. “Hi, Little Duck.”
He doesn’t swim to meet me so I bob out to him. Saltwater burns my throat. Choppy waves slap my face, but finally I’m safe in his arms.
Later that day, Dad winds fishing line in the garage and Mother sends me to bed early so she can watch her shows. I finally fall asleep. I dream I’m swimming under the stars. The waves pummel my face. A buoy’s red light rotates, beckons. Its warning bell clangs. Something rough scrapes my foot. I submerge my face and stare down. A large grey shape looms.
“SHARK! SHARK!”
I swim to the metal platform and pull myself up. The rusty edge gouges my leg and as I crawl to the center blood drips through the grate. A shadowy man sits on the edge. He turns. Watery blue eyes stare past me.
“Hi, Lyla.” My father gives me a mournful look and dives off the platform.
A shark fin cuts the water. I shout, “SHARK. SHARK.”
My eyes flutter open. Mother is raising blinds, flinging back curtains. Sunlight hurts my eyes. She frowns at me. “Your yelps last night kept me up. Now I’ll be tired all day.”
She leaves without wishing me happy birthday. But I don’t care. Today my Dad bakes my favorite cake with coconuts from our yard. I will blow out 11 candles.
My day is spent finishing the painting of my dad. It will be his birthday present. His birthday is two days after mine. I stand back and admire my painting. My eyes move from the azure blue to the indigo, and in the indigo is my dad swimming out to sea.
After dinner and cake, YUM, I open Dad’s birthday card with the fuzzy yellow duck. “My dearest Little Duck. I’m sorry I’m not a good father. Your mother never understands why I go out so far from shore. It isn’t to get away from you, Lyla. You’re the reason I swim back.”
Later Mother goes out. Dad must be in the garage. The house is quiet. I close all the blinds and curtains and head to bed. I say a silent prayer. Please, Lord, no more shark dreams.
I’m drifting to sleep when the TV in our living room blares. Someone has turned it to full volume. Mother? She must want me to wake up. Why? What is she mad about now?
I shuffle into the living room. From the sofa, Mother looks at me. Her face twists like a gargoyle’s. On the TV a man’s photo fills the screen. The photo is black and white but for the man’s eyes. Someone has colored them in a soft blue gray.
My father’s eyes.
The news feed below the photo reads Breaking News “Longtime Florida Resident Drowns at Beach.”
I scream. Mother shouts, “Shut up! Shut up!”
***
I wait until the end of the month for a full moon. I wait for the blazing Florida sun to set on Lake Worth Beach. The ocean is calm. No shark warnings so I put on my pink Disney backpack and dive in. When I’m a good distance from shore, I carefully open the sealed baggie with its solemn contents.
Why, Dad? You wrote on my card “Lyla, you’re the reason I swam back.” Why did you choose the deep end of the ocean over your Little Duck? Sobbing salty tears, I twirl so the ashes disperse in an ever-widening circle.
Something violently yanks my leg and pulls me under. “SHARK,” I gurgle. I’m out too far. No one will hear me. Razor sharp teeth scrape my leg. I submerge my face. No dark shape. My foot is hooked on my backpack strap. I watch as the plumes of ashes sink to the ocean floor.
“Goodnight, Daddy. Pleasant Dreams.”
The End.
By Margo Rife
From: United States
Website: https://pwcenter.org/profile/margo-rife
Twitter: rife_margo
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