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She only felt at home in the water

Men’s Rainbow Sandals, seen at Coffee Pot Bayou

She had never felt like she fit in.

Growing up, inside she just felt different. She tried to make friends, act normal, but no matter what she did she seemed to do it wrong.

Teachers had called her overly inquisitive; coworkers and peers had called her overly friendly or too exuberant. She struggled to keep a job, always let go because of a nebulous reason, no employer able to point out exactly what the problem was.

When it came to love, both men and women told her she was too affectionate, too “much.”

Too everything.

The only place she felt at home was near the water.

Something about the lapping of the water soothed her. She was an exceptionally good and graceful swimmer. Her feet were big and wide for her otherwise short stature, so much so that she usually had to wear men’s shoes.

It was nearing sunset. She sighed as she looked down at her big feet in her worn leather sandals.

When she looked up into Coffee Pot Bayou, she saw a zip of a dolphin’s tail.

Her heart lifted: sea creatures had always been her favorite. She felt a pull toward the seawall.

She stood on the edge. The dolphin swam closer and turned on its side.

She could swear it was purposely looking at her.

It slapped a fin against the surface of the water.

Again, she felt a compulsion. She waved back, then looked around to see if anyone could see a crazy person waving at a dolphin.

But she was alone; the popular waterside park was eerily empty.

The dolphin swam back and forth, its grey skin glistening softly in the fading sunlight.

Suddenly it dipped below the surface. She waited for several minutes, scanning the water for its return. Disappointed she began to turn back to her walk — but it reappeared with a big breath, and she felt the mist spouted from its blowhole.

She suddenly felt strange. She shouldn’t be here.

She looked down. Her feet were changing before her eyes, toes merging, widening.

She slid them off, noticing the grayish hue her skin had turned.

She looked back at the dolphin.

It was waiting for her.

In Memoriam

Camouflage Rubber boot on the curb with an old brick building behind
Kinston, N.C.

Beep beep beep beep.

Her phone glowed in the darkness: 3 a.m.

She groaned and buried her face in her pillow as she smacked around for the snooze button on the screen.

Why did it always have to be an ungodly hour.

Five minutes later her brother was banging on her door.

“Get up! Bus leaves in 30 minutes.”

Blurry eyed, she and her brother gulped down coffee and the bagels her mother had laid out.

In the garage, they pulled on layers of jackets and pants covered in leafy printed fabric, and tall rubber boots. They already loaded the truck.

Two hours later, she and her brother perched in the tree stand, waiting for the first lights of the day to stretch above the horizon. She held her bow loosely; it was both strange and familiar. It’d been five years since her father died and five years since she’d been out. It was too hard.

But this year, she and her brother decided it was time — for him. To remember. To honor.

She and her brother had spent every year of their youth — and far into adulthood — in this stand with their father. He was stoic; but in the stand, he would talk softly. Giving advice, life lessons, dad stuff. His voice was lyrical when he spoke that quietly, so much so it didn’t disturb the prey they were seeking.

Her moment of reflection was snapped away as she heard a rustle to her right. She saw her brother stiffen in her peripheral vision. Their eyes strained against the faint dawning light.

They saw the antlers first. It was a buck.

She slowly, silently raised her bow.

But when he stepped out of the thicker brush, they could see: his hide was pure white. His rack was small — a young male.

He seemed to looked right at them while her arrow was notched at him.

She hesitated.

Then she felt her brother’s hand on her arm.

She looked at her brother; together, they smiled and lowered their bows.

The buck took a few more steps in their direction. His nostrils flared. He looked right at them before he leapt away, disappearing into the North Carolina woods.

She looked at her brother.

“Let’s go home.”

When they got to the truck, they both stripped a layer and put their boots behind the utility box of their dad’s truck. As they drove into town for breakfast, she didn’t notice as a boot slipped off and bounced onto the curb.

He missed the disturbance on the otherwise still surface.

He’d never been what you’d call a good person.

Maybe it was childhood trauma, an abusive father and an absent mother who turned her head when his dad removed his belt for the slightest infraction.

Maybe it was because he’d never been very good at school, and his frustration converted to lashing out against his peers who were smaller and meeker than he.

Whatever it was, he wasn’t a very nice man to be around, and even he knew that.

His friends were at best drinking buddies, and he’d been divorced twice.

He didn’t have anyone you’d consider close.

Years of eating poorly and drinking daily had contributed to his rather rotund figure. His lack of attention to hygiene contributed to the slovenly appearance; often unshaven with a stain on his shirt.

He didn’t have much respect for the environment around him. He was the kind of man who would shoot at a rabbit with a .22 without bothering to kill it and end its misery.

His life was a continuous wasteland of waking up, picking up a breakfast sandwich from 7-11, reporting to work as a maintenance manager at a large office building in Tampa, getting off work and getting a six pack and a fried chicken dinner at the corner store, and sitting outside his pond side home and listening to the Rays game or talk radio. He often threw his cans into the pond, watching his litter float away.

Tonight he felt drawn to the edge of the water.

As he approached the edge, he dipped in the tip of his Croc-covered foot, the tepid pond water seeping through the iconic but vulnerable holes.

He stared down at his submerged foot and took another step. In the twilight, he did not see the large, prehistoric shutes disturbing the otherwise still surface of the water, gliding silently closer.

Fuck Dustin.

Man’s Adidas, found: 38th Ave N, Allendale

It had been three months since they broke up.

And he still had his old gym shoes on the floorboard of the passenger seat.

Dustin was always trying to get him to workout together. Sometimes he’d go along, awkwardly going through motions that were foreign to him; always slightly embarrassed by the glances sent his way when Dustin talked to his gym friends.

Sometimes he didn’t know why he let it go so long with Dustin when they were clearly a bad match.

Opposites can attract, but not that opposite.

He supposed he was flattered by the attention at first; that a buff, fit, attractive guy like that would find him interesting.

Unlike Dustin, his hobbies were muted: reading, volunteering, going to obscure local indie music shows in town.

At first it had been fun dating someone so different than him; ignoring red flags came naturally. A smile, or the way Dustin ran his hand through his hair, and doubts disintegrated.

But the realization that Dustin was always trying to “fix” him crept back in every time. Dustin never took an interest in any of his hobbies; he had to beg him to come to just one of his favorite artist’s showcases.

But Dustin was constantly ditching their plans for the gym, or for his running group, or Saturday morning cycling. He’d drop snide remarks when he ordered something like pizza, or drank too many beers instead of low-carb vodka sodas.

When he finally confronted Dustin, he was met with derision.

“I’m just trying to help you take care of yourself. Can’t you even appreciate that?”

After a few more rocky fights, Dustin ended it abruptly, telling him not to bother leaving his stuff on the doorstep.

As he sat idling at a stoplight, he felt his face furrow as he stared at those damn shoes again.

Fuck Dustin. He was fine, just the way he was.

The light turned green. Hardly anyone was around.

As he accelerated, he reached down to grab those damn shoes.

Then he threw them out the window.

He didn’t look in the rearview mirror to see one bounce across the sidewalk into a small patch of flowering pusley.

Soles are real. Souls are fictional.

At the park

Small child’s shoe. Size unknown. Kiwanis Park, Saint Petersburg.

She was late on rent. Late on the electric bill. Running low on her pantry, which she always kept well supplied.

She had been an excelling personal trainer. She lost her job because of the pandemic, and no one wanted to pay for virtual coaching. She got it, it wasn’t the same.

But her bills still weren’t getting paid.

She already told her landlord she was leaving. She couldn’t do it anymore. The only reason she hadn’t left was that the eviction moratorium kept her landlord from throwing her out.

She took a deep breath as she looked down at her son, who was still a couple months shy of 2. His bouncy, curly hair always made her smile no matter how bad things were.

She was going to have to move back in with her mom. Who had never approved of her being a single mom, even though that was only half her doing. His dad… well she didn’t need him.

“Park?” he said, his big eyes looking up at her.

She had almost finished packing, only a few odds and ends left really.

“Park?”

Exercise is good for stress, she reminded herself, and she wanted to always help her son use exercise as emotional regulation. Children can feel stress, too.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go to the park.”

Her mother compensated for her disapproval with gifts that a young child didn’t need, like brand name clothes or trendy shoes that he’d grow out of in a few months. His favorite pair were from her — grey Velcro high tops. He always wanted to wear those.

It was a short drive. He immediately ran across the green grass in that stumbling, unsteady way of a toddler. It was golden hour, and the sun cast a warm hue on his skin. She smiled — a small moment of content.

Later, she buckled her sleepy son back into his car seat. She didn’t notice he’d kicked off a small, grey velcro shoe as he clambered into the car.