Spirit Animal

Spirit Animal An errant wave softly nips her toes through pink jelly sandals as she crouches before a shallow tide pool where a dozen or so blennies loll. As if straight from a bad sci-fi flick, they look like miniaturized, grey iguanas with hippo faces, all flat-nosed and bug-eyed. Some slither over others; a few mill about aimlessly. Her fingers splay to steady balance. Jagged edges prickle fingertips as she leans closer to inspect.

A blenny jumps from the pool scarcely a foot from her. Gills seamlessly transition to lungs. A literal fish out of water. It easily finds purchase on ragged limestone, sure as a goat on a craggy cliff, then makes another leap closer to the sun. She cries, oh, punctuating each jump. Another blenny bounds, surpassing his kin. And then another. Oh, she delights. Oh, oh! * You go, he says when she tries to wake him for the excursion. This is your thing. Drinks by the pool later? She pretends to understand — yeah, it’s really early — and pats him back to sleep. But searching for blennies is the whole point of the trip. No need to come all the way to Guam just to lounge. California has plenty of pools.

Plus, it’s not a couple-thing if she’s alone. * Observing the colony, she wonders whether, once upon a time, terrestrial life began on an island just like this one. She pictures a lava-rock shore adorned with tiny, alien plants which strive to transform volcanic ash into rich loam. In the shallows, a fish suspects the sky rises higher than the ocean drops. The sun beckons; the fish leaps. Again and again the primordial fish thrashes and hurls itself onto rocks. Its progeny do the same until their bodies finally relent and grow lungs.

Maybe it was less volition, she considers, and more a shove from mother nature who’s always loathed the status quo. * Guam? Random, he says when she floats the idea for the trip.

Yes, but blennies, she explains, recounting a childhood obsession which she’s recently rekindled. Youtube affords her a daily blenny fix, but videos don’t sate her craving. She must behold them for herself. He stares slack-jawed.

It’s like a bucket list thing, she offers.

Whatevs, he responds. It’s your turn to pick the vacay — if you want Guam, Guam it is. He kisses her on the forehead; she throws her arms around him and squeals, thank you.

Later, she realizes that he never thanks her when it’s his turn to pick. * She lies on a stretch of sand that abuts the tide pool. Sunrays bathe her skin. The surf laps quietly; her thoughts hush. Limbs elongate catlike as she curls her toes and circles her wrists. From the road, her driver whistles and motions toward the car. She shakes no, points at herself, and then walks two fingers through the air.

The sun switches sides in the sky. A nap erases her ability to guess the hour. She lies on the sand and stares at the cloudless blue above. Her hands and legs sweep to make a sand angel. The day’s so perfect it’s heartbreaking. * The morning before their flight, she shows him her favorite blenny video, the one posted by the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

He says, kinda like a slug with wings.

She corrects, more like so ugly they’re cute.

Coffee brews; memories wake. Did she ever tell him about the day her parents split? Her father gives her a book about unusual animals — Crazy parting gift, right? Totes, he agrees. — She’s a sobbing mess as she mindlessly leafs through the volume. But when she comes to a photo of an airborne blenny, she is instantly bewitched.

As she talks, he grabs a bottle from the fridge and wiggles it to catch her attention. Last kombucha, he interrupts. She rolls her eyes. That he pays for everything doesn’t suddenly make her Dobby, the house-elf. But she’s not in the mood for that fight today.

Her focus shifts back to blennies. Facts bubble. Jumping blennies — alticus saliens — eat algae. They live mostly in the Pacific Ocean although they can be found in the Indian as well, even as far west as the Red Sea. He stands up and makes for the kitchen door.

We’re having a conversation, she says.

Babe, he shrugs, I can’t with the NOVA special. * Sitting on her heels, she whispers goodbye to her lumpy, little companions. Her desire to mai-tai with him back at the resort is nil, but the sun dips low. An ombre sky links azure to white, white to lemon, lemon to gold. The ocean glistens bronze on navy. One by one, blennies dive and disappear into limestone holes. The last vaults into the air with the bravado of a cliff diver. She applauds. You sail through the colors, little guy. You do it.

She gazes up at the darkening blue. The sky’s brilliance beckons her too for she realizes that the depths of her muddy sea have grown too shallow. Today, nature pushes her forward. She can no longer settle for the status quo he provides. It’s time to evolve, she decides, and tell him that — however foolhardy — she must leap earnestly toward the sky that lies beyond him.