Astray

All I could remember was how warm the air was. That first touch of my fingertips against the surface of the water and I felt shaken by the warmth that embraced all my body. I remember inching my fingers slowly as I was hugged by the air. As I moved up from the depths of the cold ocean home, the heat twisted itself around my body like vines, and water droplets ornamented its leaves until there was no more.

I was not used to this new feeling. My first time ever being out of the water, and all I could feel was this overwhelming heat that surrounded each and every nerve. I was surprised at how crisp the air tasted despite the humidity my pores felt. I was every bit as surprised by the sounds I heard and how each noise traveled past and through both ears until I felt the soundwaves down to my heart, traveling down to my toes and up to my ears again before thump-thump my heart beat again. 

There were birds cawing, in the midst of the darkness of the night. There was the reverberate of the waves as they integrated their arms against the body of the rocks. There was the swaying of trees moved by the occasional dance of the wind. There was silence. There was noise, but there was silence.

As I looked around to this unfamiliar piece of my world, I couldn’t help the weight that pulled me down. My arms felt numb and burdensome. My legs felt stuck to the sand. My hair, not used to sticking down on my neck, was heavier than anything I’d ever felt. Even the blink of an eye was oppressive. My eyelashes felt the weight of every water drop I had lived within the ocean, even though for once in my life, I had gone away from the water. 

I knew it would be easy for me to return home. A few steps and the ocean itself would carry me to a place I knew better than anyone. Just a few steps and all of this weight and these noises would be gone. I would not be lost, just back home.

I don’t know if I am lost. I see the moon, which I’ve always seen, in the same direction of the sky I had always seen. I see the water, my home, still brushing up against the rocks and the sand. I still feel its touch under my feet as it rises and falls with the tide. Nothing has changed. I know where I am.  I am not lost.

Just astray. Disorientated. Adrift, but not towards the see. Off-course, but without a course to follow on. I didn’t know what I was doing but I knew where I was. I wasn’t lost physically, but I just didn’t know what to do anymore. 

I’d thought a lot about what I would be when I finally left home. I had heard all of these stories about life beyond the water and I’d always dreamt about the day it would finally happen to me. I wanted to breathe the air for once, to run with legs that were meant for running, to pretend I was like the rest of them. I wanted to know what it would’ve felt like to drive in a car with the windows down and perceive time through the wind. I wanted to watch the sun rise and set. I wanted it all.

But it’s different here, now. I could feel everything I would have wished for. The sand underneath my toes, the warm air, the wind fondling my neck and hair. I could do everything and more but I was stunned, motionless, and silent. I could feel it all, and perhaps it was too much. I craved the easy. I wanted to go back home where the water carried me like I didn’t have to carry myself.  I wanted home where my arms and legs felt a part of me that was not heavy. I wanted to be back in that frosty ocean. I want home. 

I can feel the salty breath of the air behind my ears. I can sense the unfamiliar washing away of the water as the tide falls. Like everything else, the sand that once felt so warm feels uncomfortable without the dampness of the water underneath it. As it falls back home, I feel its pull on me. The sand falls down and the water rushes away. I stay, motionless and silent as the waves pull back and its noise falls further away. The water rushes home but I stay. The water pulls back and the air pulls away and it is quiet for that split second where time stops. I don’t feel the air brushing past my neck and onto the leaves of the trees. I don’t taste the salty warmness against my skin. I’m silent and motionless as I wait for the tide to return. 

The tide comes back like it always does. It buries itself into the crevices of the sand and I release my pent-up breath. It mixes and swirls against the warmth of the air. I can breathe again. The sand feels comfortable when it's damp. I can feel the waves within my heartbeat. I am connected to home. 

I sit down, and my skin is no longer on fire. I lay down, and nothing feels heavy. I stare up at the sky, and the moon, which I’ve always seen, in the same direction of the sky I had always seen. Nothing had changed.

All I could remember was the water underneath my body. That contact of my skin against my home was all I needed to remember how to breathe. And with every breath, I took the air felt more and more familiar. The warmth mixed itself with my air with every exhale. I felt okay. I was not lost. Astray, perhaps, but I had my compass. As I relaxed my muscles against the sand and the tide that had left once more,  I knew I would be okay. I had the moon and its angle. I had the stars which danced with it. I had the night sky which would take care of me and be my home. I was going to be okay.