When the Tides Held the Moon

by Venessa Vida Kelley

Never in my life had I seen Irishmen fawn over a colored man. Was this what it took to get respect in America? A body like Hércules?

“It is the simple truth of every creature with a soul. You are not your body, Benigno.”

Among the more fascinating things I learned was that merfolk were not born ni macho ni hembra—that becoming male or female in body happened only once one’s soul had chosen “its truest form.”

But there’s no adage or saying for a man who falls in love with another man, let alone un tritón. A story like that only ends with a broken heart and God’s judgment.

“So . . . do you really wish you were a man, then?” Vera shrugged. “Would be nice to be the next Ella Wesner, but I don’t feel much one way or the other. Some days the dress fits just right. Other days . . . it’s a skin I’d like to peel off.

Ave María. Who would’ve guessed I’d wind up sharing a house with living proof humans could be just like merfolk who were neither man nor maid?

Men sweet on other men, ladies sweet on ladies, folks sweet on nobody at all—who cares so long as everyone’s living happy and hurtin’ no one?”

“Make freedom your destination . . . and you will know what metal you are made of soon enough.”