Discovery of Jane Doe in Newport

No one knew who she was.  She just appeared at our small sea resort on the coast, wrapped in some kelp lying on the beach.  She did not have a memory of the past and no language to describe what kind of trauma she had been through.  Some of the locals hinted that she was an alien from another planet.  But if you have ever been in a small community, you know how they are when it comes to rumors or innuendo about some mysterious person who suddenly appears out of nowhere.  

Brett Walker loved to beachcomb with his lab mix, Harvey after dinner.  Known as a local loner who dabbled in oils and watercolors, Brett was once a big league prospect until he suffered a career-ending injury.  After that he decided to hide away in this small coastal community on the rugged Oregon shore.  His place was a bit shabby, to say the least and he called his bachelor’s bungalow but he liked it that way.  He wasn’t out to impress anyone except an art dealer in Portland who seemed to like some of the artwork.  He managed to sell to him some of his pieces from time to time.  The rest of the time, Brett worked in a seafood packing warehouse where the atmosphere was raw, but after six years, he barely even noticed the fishy odor  anymore. 

Beachcombing was especially rewarding during the season change from Spring to Summer when the fata morgana would appear at sunset.  The water was still cold and icy, but the colors would explode on the horizon like one of Brett’s watercolor paintings.  As they walked their usual five mile journey to the point and back, Brett would pick up some of the more interesting driftwood and use it in one of his projects when he got home.  The sea provided  a lot of inspiration for Brett, but his art dealings did not generate the type of income he was looking for.  So, he spent his days at Marinetti’s Seafood Processing located on one of the old docks in the harbor.  His only friend was DeMarco Phillips who logged ten years at Martinetti's and talked of his glory days at Oregon where he played forward on the basketball team.  DeMarco had his knee replaced after an injury in his senior season. “Shoudda gone pro like they told me to.” 

“Shouldda, couldda, wouldda.” Brett would shake his head.  Sometimes they would go down to the Pirate’s Head to have a couple of beers and commiserate about what could have been.

They would sit at the table with a view of the ocean.

“Don’t get no better than that.” Brett would observe.

“I never get tired of it.” DeMarco would salute the ocean with his beer bottle. 

Still both of them would look at the infiniteness of the ocean and feel quite small as they sat there drinking beer.

One Saturday morning, Brett decided to do a morning excursion with Harvey when he saw footprints.  On this part of the beach, footprints were not common and he was surprised to see them leaving him feeling like Robinson Curosoe.   What he saw next nearly stopped his heart.  Wrapped up in the kelp, were the two small feet that had made the prints.  Harvey was digging in the soft sand and tiny shells before Brett was able to reach discarded kelp.  Managing to unwrap the tangle of kelp, Brett found the tiny body of a child.  

He knelt next to the child.  At first she did not seem as though she was breathing, but when he pulled back some of the soggy seaweed, he could see her chest and stomach move.  He put his hand on her shoulder and gently jostled her.  She groaned. 

“Holy crap.” He muttered to himself, this girl was alive.  Since he had no children, he had no way of knowing how old she was.  And he sure as heck had no way of knowing how she got here.  Harvey barked and wagged his tail. 

The only phone number loaded on his Contacts list was DeMarco.  With his head spinning, he never thought to dial 9-1-1.

“What’s up, dude?” DeMarco answered the phone on the second ring.

“Hey could you meet me down on the beach by the point?” Brett could not believe how hard it was to get all of that out of him in one breath.

“You got some nude sunbather?” He chuckled.

“No...it’s more than that.” Brett managed to draw a breath for the first time since discovering her.

“Be right down.” He said and Brett could hear his phone click.  It would take him about five minutes to get here, but what was he going to do in the meantime? 

Her eyes flickered open, they were big and brown like her sea-washed hair.  She sat up and looked at Brett.  Her expression was that of total confusion.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Brett squatted down so he could remain eye to eye with her. 

She screamed and Harvey barked.

“It’s okay...it’s okay.” Brett held out his hands making it clear he had no intention of hurting or even touching her.  Just then DeMarco appeared.

“What the f--?” He blurted out.

She screamed again.

“Found her on the shore.” Brett stood up and wiped his chin with his hand.  

“Who is she?” DeMarco stood next to Brett.

“ I have no idea.” Brett shook his head and glanced over at her as she attempted to stand.  It was a bad idea since all she could do was stagger and fall.  

“Holy crap, what do we do?” DeMarco looked at her and then looked at Brett.

“I don’t know.” Brett shrugged.

With much deliberation, it was decided the child would stay with Brett.  He managed to get her into his spare room at his bungalow where he set up a bed for her.  Harvey slept on the floor beside the air mattress he managed to procure from a second-hand store.  It was eerie how quiet she was.  The only noise she made was her raspy breathing when she slept.

As it turned out, the police did intervene and brought the child to Dr. Julie Bingham, a psychologist specializing in child memory.  

Dr. Bingham complimented Brett on his excellent care of the child, but when she sat in Julie’s office, she would not speak.  She told Brett that the part of her memory responsible for speaking and remembering words could have been damaged in whatever trauma she had suffered in her journey.

“So what do we do?” He asked helplessly.

“Nothing we can do until that part of her brain begins to function again.” Julie explained.

“What if it doesn’t?” He looked at the child who was holding a doll the doctor had given her.

“The human mind is a mysterious thing sometimes.” She put her hand to her chin.

“What about the doll?” He asked.

“She can have it if it makes her feel secure.  Right now that is the most important thing.  If she is secure, the trauma may begin to heal itself.  We can only hope.” Dr Bingham smiled as Brett left her office with the child’s hand in his. 

Bart Whitaker was a local reporter and the mysterious child who washed up on the shore was the biggest news story to happen in quite a while.  He met Brett and the child at Runniger’s Clam and Crab Shack.  The child had an appetite as Bart witnessed when he walked into the place.  

“Found her on the shore?” Bart pulled out his pad and pencil.

“Yup.” Brett slurped his clam chowder. 

“Amazing.” Bart shook his head, “Hazel, could I get an order of fried clams?” 

Hazel just nodded affirmatively and rushed to the kitchen with a new ticket. 

“Call her Jane Doe, right?” Bart sniffed.

“I’d rather not.” Brett shook his head and looked down at the child who was ravenously eating her crab salad. 

“What else?” Bart chuckled.

“By her name.” Brett said with a hint of consternation in his voice.

“Which is…?” Bart thanked Hazel who put down a nice hot dish of fried clams in front of him.

“I just don’t want to go calling her names that don’t belong to her.  She has been through quite an ordeal.” Brett glanced over at her again.

“Are you sure about that?” Bart smiled as he chewed.

“She was all wrapped up in kelp.” He looked at Bart in the eyes.

“So is sushi, but we like it a lot.” Bart glanced over at the child who was just finishing her salad. “She has quite an appetite, huh?”

“Yeah.” He smiled down at her.

“But nonverbal.” He nodded.

“Not a word since I found her.” He shook his head.

“I would love to know her story.” Bart hung his head at an angle as if this would help him see what he was looking for.

“Me too.” Brett nodded.

The story of Jane Doe filled the front page of the local newspaper much to Brett’s chagrin.  The next day at the processing plant, he was in a bad mood.

“Whacha ‘pect?” DeMarco cut off the legs of a dungeness crab.  

“I told him…” He groused. 

“You know he wasn’t going to stop.” DeMarco laughed.

“Why do people feel they can go around doing things like this?” He whacked open a fish with a hatchet, blood and guts went everywhere on the table. “Just because she can’t speak for herself, doesn’t mean we have the right to do it for her.” 

“Now you feeling what our people have felt for four hundred years.” DeMarco said in total seriousness as he swung his blade again cutting off more crab legs. 

It made Brett uncomfortable when DeMarco spoke of his African roots and the injustice imposed on them in the context of history, because DeMarco was his best and only friend.  Establishing a barrier based on such facts made him feel isolated at times and this was one of those times.  

Harvey was the first to notice the changes in the girl whom everybody was now calling Jane Doe.  Brett refused to give in to the social construct that seemed to be rapidly forming around her.  Her tell began to sharpen and her limp became more noticeable.   Harvey, who from the first day she occupied the spare bedroom, slept at the foot of her bed, but now had chosen to go back to his old spot by the stove which was warm on the cold coastal nights.  

Even as oblivious as Brett was to most things in his immediate surroundings, he began to notice physical changes in the girl.  She had been with him about three weeks when he found the remains of a fish of some sort, eaten raw, near the back door of his bungalow.  It was a sizable fish and did not appear to have anything or  apparatus to indicate it had been seized from the ocean by usual means. 

Saturday, DeMarco showed up with an apology case of beer.  As part of their ritual, they would sit by the dinghy Brett had been working on since he moved in, trying to get it sea worthy. 

“I’m sorry about earlier this week.” DeMarco popped the lids off of two bottles of beer and handed one to Brett.

“It’s alright, I forgot all about it really.” He lied before taking a health swig.

“Sometimes I really feel my blackness.  It makes me mad.  My old man spent his life being a driver for white folks and listening to their lip.  He never said a word.” DeMarco leaned back in the lounge chair, “And when he took me on one of his runs, I’d hear their comments and think, ‘If you say something like that to me, I will slap the stuffing outta ya.’  Of course I never did.” 

“We all get that way sometimes.” Brett said philosophically, taking another swig that he let settle slowly on the way down.  The sun was now above the blue horizon and the tide was starting to come in.  Today would be a good day to finish his boat and take it out on the water, but he knew it would end around the time he finished his fourth beer.  She wandered out of the backdoor and without even a nod of her head like she usually did, she walked into the surf.

“Hey, is that safe.” DeMarco pointed with his beer bottle.

“No.” Brett was on his feet and lapping his way toward her as she waded into waist high surf.  There were sneaker waves that would carry her off halfway up the coast.  When she heard him splash in the water, she turned, but her face was not the angelic one he had been used to since she arrived, instead there was a savageness around her mouth and eyes he had never seen before.  It made him pause for a moment.

“Where are you going?” He asked.  

She looked at him as if his question was so obvious, it did not require a response.  He knew she couldn’t answer anyway.  The question was rhetorical.  Only he could answer it.  He took her hand, but this time she twisted his grasp until he let go.  He stood there stunned.  This was the first time she had defied him.  Most of the people in town believed unless someone came forward to claim her as their child, Brett would take legal action to adopt her.  He had already started an inquiry to help her develop some form of communication with him.  Julie was already helping him in that matter.  Together she had established a rudimentary form of communication where she would make her basic needs known.  

Pediatrician Ernesto Gomez, earlier in the week, had done an examination on her and found some fish scales attached to her small ankles.  The scales came off with little or no effort, but it seemed that there were replacements growing in the general area.  Noted, he did not mention his finding to Brett, because his speculation would only raise concerns that did not seem worth getting upset about.  Brett was an easy going guy who could easily be upended.  He remembered how his wife had died of cancer at a very young age.  His grief was as fresh as if she had passed away yesterday, so he was careful what and how he told Brett his findings.  Could these scales be the sign of something more seriously wrong with the child or just some fluke.  He would keep quiet about it until he knew for sure.

She walked deeper into the surf as the tide sent strong waves that nearly knocked Brett off his feet.  Since his athletic frame was still sturdy for the most part, despite putting on a few middle age pounds, the waves were pushing him back as she continued to advance.  Less than fifty yards ahead was the dropoff.  It was deceiving and caused at least one person to drown each summer.

“No.” He called out as her head was submerged in a wave. DeMarco was now running into the surf with a beer bottle still in his hand.  

She grunted.  It was supposed to mean something, but Brett had no clue as to what she was trying to say.  

“Come back.” He struggled to move forward, but a big wave pushed him back.

When he saw a fish tale emerge from the water close to her, he screamed since the tale was very large.  It was clear the tale was from a fish large enough to consume her.  Sharks were not the only predators on the shore.

Another wave and she was gone just like that.

Brett screamed just as DeMarco got there.

“It’s alright.” He embraced Brett who was frantic.

“She’s gone.” He coughed up some of the ocean.

“I know.” DeMarco acknowledged. 

“Why aren’t you more distressed?” Brett pointed to where she had disappeared.

“I saw.” DeMarco began leading his friend back to shore.

“Saw what?  Her drowning?” He salt tears rolled down his cheeks into the ocean like minnows returning home.

“She didn’t drown.” DeMarco now had him standing on the shore, but he was still focused on the last place he had seen her.

“How do you know?” Brett was ready to slug his friend.

“She had a tale.” He tilted his head.

“What?” Brett shoved his fist into his wet cargo pants pocket.

“She was returning home.” DeMarco became teary eyed as well.  “Dude, she came from the sea.” 

“That is the craziest-”

“She was a mermaid.” He stated with certainty.

“Mermaid?  They are mythological.” Brett sat in the sand, legs crossed with his head in his hands.

“I have heard things from some of the fishermen who drop off their loads on our docks.  From far away they appear to be seals, but there have been a few that swam to the fishing boats to steal some of the catch.  For that they are allowed to form human legs from their fins in order to steal what they need. She was a young one and I’m willing to wager that one of the crew caught her stealing and put her in the hold.  She managed to get out, but she could not change back until the next full moon which was last night.  If she didn’t make it into the ocean, she would have to wait even longer.” DeMarco explained.

“How do you know so much about it?” Brett looked his friend in the eye.

“You know mermaids aren’t like Ariel.  They are creatures of the sea.” He smiled and rolled his head, “There are things out there that are beyond our wildest dreams.”

Brett came to his haunches and stared out at the rough surf.  Somewhere in those waves was a mermaid he had encountered for a brief time, but whose memory would be with him forever.