The Belly of the Fish

Biting down forcefully on her lower lip, Dinah stepped the ball of her foot onto the cold, wet sand. The touch of the small grains under her feet for the first time in forty years made her catch her breath. She could feel the deep-seated memories trying to push their way out. Push their way, not out of her mind, but out of her heart.

A seagull made a long call above her and she peeked up for the first time, trying to avoid the vast body of water in front of her. Focus on the bird. Focus on the bird. Squinting, she looked up at the gull flapping its wings above her. She could see a small fish in its mouth. Perhaps a mullet? Ridley would sometimes use mullets for bait when he went fishing here. He’d wake up before the sun rose and be home by breakfast, always bragging about his catch of the day. Grouper. Tilefish. Black Sea Bass. Red Snapper. She’d once known all the fish species found in the Outer banks. Now, she could only recall a few. Now, she couldn’t even stand the sight of the word fish on a restaurant menu.

Finally lowering her vision, Dinah regarded the ocean, her fingers and toes tingling at the titanic sight. The frothy water, green with silt, crashed onto the uneven shoreline. Closing her eyes tightly, the briny smell of the sea air engulfed itself into her nostrils without an invitation. That’s how it always was, wasn’t it? This ocean. This air. They didn’t ask permission. They had no manners.

The sound of waves crashed so loudly; her thoughts were redirected towards the water. She listened as the fizz of foam seeped ashore and spread itself across the sand. Had the sound not been there when she’d stepped onto the beach earlier? Or had she just muted it out? She guessed it was the latter. But anything was possible at the beach.

A child’s laughter floated past her left shoulder. Mommy, can we build a sandcastle? Dinah twisted her head to the side. Jonah? She searched for the toddler but only saw a vast, empty beach. No children were here today. Not real nor ghosts. No…that was a silly thought. It must have been the wind.

“Good evening,” a man’s voice called from behind her. Startled, Dinah jumped as she turned around to see where the voice was coming from. It was mid-February. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone at the beach on such a cold, windy, late afternoon.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you,” a man in a bright yellow puffer jacket said. He gripped a fishing pole in his right hand, and a bucket, holding a tackle box, in his left.

“It’s okay…” Dinah said hesitantly, eyeing the man suspiciously. What is a fisherman doing at the beach in the middle of winter? she speculated.

“I’m hoping to catch a striped bass or two,” the man said, gesturing towards the ocean as if Dinah were a child, unable to figure out where fish came from. “The colder temperatures draw the bass into shallower waters. They sometimes hang around until April.” He shrugged before giving a shy grin.

The smile Dinah forced back made her cheeks hurt. The cold, salty air made the deep grooves on her face feel as if they may crack open. “Well good luck I guess,” she said, wishing he would walk as far away from her as possible. She didn’t want any spectators while she faced her fear. And she knew she wouldn’t have the nerve to come back tomorrow. She only had today.

“I’ll need it,” the man said as he walked past her and headed to the right. She was glad he hadn’t commented on her attire. Glad he’d ignored the crazy old lady, donning bare feet and a linen dress to the beach in the winter. Because if he’d asked her why she was dressed the way she was…. how would she have responded?

“I haven’t caught any yet this winter. But you only need one. Am I right?” He didn’t turn around as he spoke. He just kept walking. And walking.

Dinah held her breath in tightly while she watched him go. Willing him to walk far out of sight. She was as still as a statue until his yellow puffer jacket became a tiny dot. And then, she relaxed her shoulders a little. Maybe he knew she wanted her space. Or maybe, he just liked that spot to fish. She’d never know.

She bit down on her lip again, tasting the salty air as if she’d dipped her lips directly into the ocean water. She took one step forward, almost losing her balance.

I should have brought my walker, she thought as she took another step closer towards the water. She’d left it back in the car. Naïve to the deep pockets in the sand. How easily they’d been forgotten. How easily anything could be forgotten if you tried hard enough.

She reached her hand up and rubbed her palm on the back of her neck. The salty air was making her skin itch and she needed something to lean on. Needed to rest her clammy palms upon…something. Needed to stop the shaking in her hands. Needed to grip onto something as tightly as she could.

Scanning the panoramic view, she saw the waves crash evenly with no breaks. No rip currents, she thought as she closed her eyes, seeing the darker, narrow gap in the line of breaking waves behind her eyelids. The areas where waves are stuck between regions with larger wave breaks. She didn’t have to try very hard to envision these currents. They came to her every night while she slept. Through dreams. Through nightmares.

Rip currents can form at any beach with breaking waves and can quickly sweep away even the strongest swimmer, a voice whispered to her right shoulder. Opening her eyes, she searched for the voice, but was only met with the seagull. She watched as it flew down next to her, placing the half-eaten fish in front of her feet as if offering a sacrifice.

“You eat it,” she said, kicking the fish back over towards the bird. She stared as the bird stepped towards her another inch. Studying her as if she were an exhibit at a museum.

And then, to her surprise, the seagull waddled a few inches towards the ocean, it’s eyes intently glued on Dinah’s as if offering something else to her.

“Follow you?” she asked. She placed one foot in front of the other.

The seagull took four more steps and darted its glassy, loyal eyes back to Dinah. She followed. It stepped again. She followed. She followed. She followed. I can do this, she thought, now standing inches away from the waves. Her eyes, taking in the enormous belly of water in front of her.

Her mother had told her it was foolish to name her son after a prophet who was swallowed by a fish. “Why don’t you name him Aaron, mountain of strength? Or Elijah, the strong Lord?” she’d suggested, when Dinah had mentioned the name to her before she’d given birth. But Dinah had liked the correlation between the name and the sea. Dinah didn’t believe in cursed names.

The seagull submerged its talons into the water and Dinah gripped her arms over her stomach. The gull was so brave. So trusting. It had never had its only child taken by a rip current. Never lost the love of its life. Never moved hundreds of miles away from the ocean, unwilling to even stomach the sight of it ever again.

But its eyes, its eyes were still on her. Inviting her in with it. She glanced back at the half-eaten fish behind her. Forgotten by the bird. Or maybe, just placed aside for later. It had more important things to do right now.

“Okay,” she whispered to the gull. “Okay, I’m coming.” She closed her eyes and dipped her right toe into the belly of the fish.