First Skin

I’ve found the words. The most difficult part is done. 

I place the letter on the mantelpiece between my late husband’s pocket watch and the rings that sealed our wedding vows over two decades ago. Bjorn was a good man. I miss him.

One more time, I allow myself to stand on the threshold and peek into Sari’s bedroom. I watch my daughter sleep like I’ve done for the past twenty-one years.

The familiar sense of contentment that settles in my gut is laced with queasy longing. Homesickness is no stranger to my heart. Soon, that homesickness will shift direction, from one home to another. In all these years, I haven’t found a way to escape it. Regret will come, as certain as I’m standing here, but nevertheless I’ll go. It’s time. 

The room smells of lily of the valley, Sari’s favorite scent. Her breathing is steady and languid, the smile on her face dreamy. Next to the auburn bird’s nest that is her hair, her slender hand clutches a red, leather box. 

Earlier that night, her boyfriend proposed. In our garden, her birthday party in full swing, under a string of bright colored lanterns, surrounded by their most loyal friends, Sean went down on one knee and proclaimed Sari to be the woman of his life. My daughter accepted him wholeheartedly, not a sliver of doubt on her mind. 

A mother can tell. 

Leaning against the door frame with a mug of damping mulled wine in my hand, I studied her reactions carefully when the jewelry box popped out of Sean’s hand. I was vigilant for the slightest hesitation, but with my own two eyes I saw that my Sari is capable, confident and cared for. My job here is done.

I wrap a shawl tightly around my frame and step outside. The wind both lashes and caresses my face with salt and quiet whispers. ‘Come home! It’s time.’

I take the path from the cottage up the cliff, my feet picking up pace as excitement starts spilling from my gut. At the top, I halt for a moment and breathe in with unbridled gluttony. The ocean stretches before me, vast and black, disturbed by nothing but its own foam crests dancing left and right. Iodine barrels down my respiratory system and the smell of seaweed replenishes my soul. The roar of the waves soothes my mind. Home, I’m going home. 

I brush a strand of hair from my face. It’s grey now, but it was glimmering gold the first time I made the life threatening climb up the rock wall. Curiosity had gotten the better of me, the morning I heard Bjorn’s deep baritone voice bouncing off the cliffs. It had taken us exactly one dance to fall in love and change the course of our lives forever, but I’m headed in the opposite direction now. I’m going back down. 

I leave my shoes in a waving patch of marram grass. I won’t be needing them where I’m going. Barefoot, I make my way down the edgy rock. The warm life that I’ve led with Bjorn has softened my skin and the soles of my feet tear easily at the touch of the sharp, cold stones. My blood trickles on the cliffs. Every drop I lose creates more clarity in my mind. My blood has always belonged to the wild, has it not?

My dress rips at the seams, another mark of civilization I’m prepared to let go. On a protruding ledge, invisible in the dark, I cut my knee and suck in a sharp breath. 

At the cliff’s foot lies a narrow stretch of beach and a cave is hidden in the rock’s folds. My heart drums ferociously as I venture inside. It’s dark, even darker than outside under the glistening reflection of the moon and my eyes need a moment to adjust. I blink and try to catch my breath, but the thrill of anticipation is too much. There’s no sense in trying. I won’t regain a steady heartbeat until my head dips under water. 

With my fingertips, I peruse the slick wall of the cavern, searching a narrow alcove. When I find it, I reach in, until my fingers touch the velvety pelt stored inside. A moan escapes me. My pelt, it’s still there. I jerk it out and press it to my face to revel in the perfume of kelp and the soft feel of damp fur. My first skin.

Carefully, I spread it over a rock and pull my sweater over my head. Though the cavern is drafty and inhospitable, I strip down naked. Goosebumps pebble over my skin, but I can’t let that stop me. Once more, I sniff at the pelt and take it outside with me. 

The zephyr tugs at my hair and whips my ears, my nose, my nipples, but I have to remain naked till my toes touch the waves. Only then, I slip my arms and shoulders into the pelt. On first touch, it’s cold, but after a few breaths, it hugs me and melts on my human skin. My heart leaps in my chest. 

My first skin hasn’t forgotten me. It’s still mine. 

Soon, my heart rate and breathing slow down. My vision blurs and a sense of calm floods my being. Knowing my feet won’t carry me much longer, I lie down in the surf. My belly grows thick against the scraping sand, but with the altered sensitivity of my new layers of skin, it doesn’t grate at me. It greets me like a comfortable bed after a long day. When I’ve morphed completely with the pelt, I feel reborn. Selkie again, myself once more.

I bop into the ocean and slip into its cool embrace, push my head under, dive down and tumble through the water. Vertical dives up and down, horizontal glides, somersaults, swirls and underwater ballet, this is what I’m meant to do, meant to be. In under a minute, I’m euphoric. My body, my home, my skill.

I venture deeper, drawn to the kelp forest: Tall strings in all shades of green wave lazily in the current. Filtered moonlight seeps into the dark waters and illuminates the hunting grounds. 

Between the curtain of green, other seals play with their food: sardines and flatfish. Seals rule the kelp ecosystem, and selkies are its uncrowned royalty. Lightheaded with joy, I join my beastly, regal family. 

There are no questions and no answers. The buzz of the ocean in my ear holes leaves no room for thought in my head. I feel delightfully serene. It doesn’t matter that the flatfish doesn't want to be eaten or that the sardines are no match for our hunting skills. It’s what we are and what we’re born to do. I swim and I feed: salt, blood, skin, bone, and fins… a little weed for seasoning. An entire night goes by with no pressing thought. No guilt, no shame, no accountability. 

Until the rising sun peeks through the water, and like a translucent scarf slithering in the current, a fleeting memory snakes into the kelp forest.

 ‘Sun …’ I vaguely remember, ‘can burn, can be perilous.’ And then … ‘Did I leave a sunhat for the baby, or a parasol? Any kind of protection? Should I go back and check? After all, it is my child. My baby.’

***

My shoes are still on top of the cliff where I left them. A bird has been so generous to shit in one of them, so I carry them all the way back, dangling from my hand, while my feet bleed on the pebbles of the path down the cliff. 

Somewhere along my walk, my wits return, reminding me that my child is no longer a baby. The homesickness has tricked me again, or is it that thing humans talk so fondly of? Am I taken in by an unexpected outburst of undying maternal love? And why does this realization make me feel fuzzy and warm inside?

I shrug, deciding it doesn’t matter. Sari is a human child, and human children like to have their mothers around on their wedding day. For now, that’s reason enough.

The cottage is peaceful, only the ticking of my husband's watch on the mantelpiece breaks the silence. I take the letter I’ve written the night before. With a ribbon, I tie it to the others in the secret drawer of my private desk. Twenty-one, I’ve written now. Twenty-one, locked away unopened. 

Maybe next year, on Sari’s twenty-second birthday, I’ll do it, I’ll return to the ocean, but right now, I have to stand on the threshold of the lily perfumed bedroom, and watch my favorite person sleep. There’s nothing else to do.

My first skin is precious, but it has no hold over my heart.