The Dark-eyed Sea
by: Kristen Hair
My name is Alete. The French meaning of my name means to “support” or “to guide.” I don’t know if my parents were right when they named me, but I guess we’ll find out. This is, after all, my story.
I know that I was born with some odd qualities. I could sit for hours and watch the breeze move through the grass without growing restless. I had exceptional hearing, listening to things no one else could hear. But by far the most miraculous of my qualities? The way I could swim.
We always lived near the sea. The way I dipped under the waves sent my parents into a panic, at first. Slowly they got used to the way my body molded to the sea, the way it plunged in the blood warm water with ease. The sea was a part of me.
I can’t describe what it’s like in the water. The way the current rushes over your back, the feeling of bubbles rushing across your cheek bones. Many people don’t like being out of control. But in the battle for control in the ocean, the ocean will always win. You will drown and you will die. You have to work with the sea. To take equal parts. You have to say, I will take care of myself. I will not test you. Let me in. And somehow, it does.
I was married once. I was everything my parents wanted me to be. I let my hair grow down my back, and I married a young man from Newfoundland. And for a while, we were happy. He was kind, and I was docile, and I tried to ignore the sea. I tried to ignore the endless calling, the constant way it begged me to come home. We had a beautiful daughter, Naida. I named her after the nymph of the ocean. She was a lovely thing, with my French complexion and dark, dark hair. She gained her father’s eyes somehow, a bright blue glow. I loved her dearly.
She is the only thing I miss.
She grew older, and I grew more restless. My husband noticed my unease and asked me what was wrong with his dark eyed beauty. Alec was a good man, so I told him. I told him everything; how the water called to me constantly, the way I had to fight every day not to leave both him and my beautiful daughter. He kissed me and told me to go for a while. To stay in the sea for a few days and then return.
I have never looked back.
I think of my giggling, gorgeous little girl and I wonder. How is my blue-eyed baby? How has my little shadow grown? Does she hate the mother she doesn’t remember? I wonder what Alec has told her of me. I want to see her so badly it hurts. But the call of the ocean wins. It always wins.
I love to swim around the coastline. I like to see the people as they scatter on their way. I often forget I’m human when I’m out in the open water, and sometimes, it’s nice to see someone like you. I always look for my daughter. Even if I could see her from a distance, it would be worth it.
Most humans don’t understand me. Its bad enough I spend all my time in the water. It’s even worse that I abandoned my family. The only ones who try to understand are the fishermen. When I talk, they listen. And mostly, they understand. Most of the time they laugh, and ask, “Why else would I spend my time batting around in the ocean?” I shrug. They know the way the sea calls. They know the sweet sorrow that comes with being alone for so long. They feed me, clothe me, and send me on my way. It’s nice to eat hot food once in a while. The tea and alcohol sting my throat, and the meat tastes strange, but nevertheless, it feels good.
“Alete! Alete!” I hear my name, even from underneath the water. It sounds foreign to my ears. It’s been a long tisme since anyone knew my name. I swim to the top of the choppy water. The sea is rough today. I can see a dim figure standing on the water’s edge, and the sound is coming from them. I swim closer, faster. It is a woman, which I find strange. All the women I knew would be long dead. I approach the shore, and feel the grimy sand in my fingers, meaning I have to stand. I stand and try to walk closer, but I don’t remember how. I tumble into the tiny waves and she runs closer.
She is my daughter.