The Sea Creature
Eliza stood by the water. There were no people around. She had checked. Twice. Vivian and Eli probably thought she was at a friend’s house. They would manage. They had each other. The water roared and crashed violently against the shore. Closer and closer. Almost as if it was trying to reach her and grab her. But it couldn’t. Not until she gave it permission. Once she did—gave it permission—it would look beautiful, even magnificent, she was sure of it.
Eliza picked up a stone and threw it into the water, like a sacrificial offering. The water swallowed the stone greedily and aggressively, but then calmed slightly. Now it could wait a little longer. Eliza had put on her nice dress today, the white one with lots of fabric, so much that it trailed slightly along the ground. It was the one she had worn that day in the church. It would look dramatic when they found her—if they did. Maybe they wouldn’t even look for her, she thought, but the thought was unbearable, so she focused again on the waves, which were growing impatient once more.
They began to crash harder against the shore, with foam like a wild animal frothing at the mouth. Eliza took three steps forward—one for each beating heart the waves had selfishly taken from her. She scowled at the sea, and suddenly the waves began to roar louder and louder, almost as if answering her, like a dog growling in discontent. Eliza took three more steps toward the growling sea—one for each coffin she had watched lowered into the ground.
Her father wouldn’t have wanted her to hate the ocean, Eliza now remembered. But she couldn’t help it. Eliza walked further out and sat down in the sand. She was so close to the water that it touched the tips of her toes. She felt something wet on her cheek, and Eliza wiped it away with the back of her hand. She had put on her nice ring—the one she got from Dad after he came home from a tropical island. He had brought gifts for all of them and said that one day, he would take her with him. Now it was as if the sea was inviting her, promising her that everything would be better. Dad had made promises too. He didn’t get to choose his clothes like she did, and he probably didn’t even have time to wonder whether anyone would look for him.
The wind pulled at her hair as she stood up. She hoped it wouldn’t get too tangled—it wouldn’t look good.
