The Seas

by Samantha Hunt

3-in-One. He holds me. He hollows me. He hells me.

“I always thought it was because the ocean is like a one-of-a-kind thing, like there is nothing else similar to it in the entire world and so the ocean feels no love, no mother, no father or husband, like a space alien. I always thought that just made it an extremely nasty and greedy thing, like an only child.”

When you are young, living in the North, sadness can make you feel like you have something to do. Sadness can be like a political cause, almost, or a religion or a drug habit. It is a lot of work to stay sad.

Jude would never make me think of a timetable or a bank account or a good job, whatever the fuck that means. He’d never make me think of any of the ugly things on dry land. Despite all that is not right with Jude, nothing I do with him is ever held up to the light for judgment. He never thinks I am odd or weird or poor or perverted or wrong. He’d never say, “You’re a real nut job.” I’d sit in his dirty laundry for days and he would understand. He would even bring me a cup of soup while I sat.

But I arrived in convolutions, more igneous than sedimentary, that is, mixed up. There was no way for them to strip away my reality without killing me. It was twisted inside me like a fetus.

Applying wait like a person might apply herself to a job.

If one word can mean so many things at the same time then I don’t see why I can’t.