We’re both spinning in a paddleboat beneath the willow tree on a foggy moonlit night. The lightning bugs encircle us with their hypnotic flashing. I can almost see the frogs just under the water, singing, each time you tug on the oars.
The Prince Eric to my Princess Ariel is oblivious. He’s wondering why it’s so loud tonight. Mother Nature has spent all day, steering us back together. After all those years I was swimming below, telling myself I couldn’t find my legs, I found them back there alright…
The slow-crawl of my annoyance has me dawdling again, but I know a swan song when I hear one. Doesn’t matter how it’s dressed – even the squawking of a Scuttle can’t fool me. And I’m on my way.
Everyone on the horizon, watching us coast out to sea, saw me clear enough when we went out. They knew the role I played in my own boat. Everybody, except me.
I saw glimpses of it, stared it down the gullet and played the part. Somewhere deep down, the real actors of the world saw through me. They could feel the quiver, the shaking of someone who was bound to bungle the thing. Someone who didn’t belong on stage at all.
I could feel them, tentacles moving me around with that calculating coolness of a pro. Just off stage, their voice, cooing at me like a pacifier. Over there. Outside the boat, honey. Where you belong… The smugness of it left a raised, red handprint on my face. It’s laser-printed through the stage make-up they caked on my cheeks. But they know that… It’s why they did it.
Teach you a lesson, little girl. Because it’s obvious you need it.
There’s an innate adversarial tone they can’t hide.
You know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re watching them turn you into something you’re not. They’re flipping the boat and playing dirty. And the whole thing started when you bargained away your own voice.
You made a deal with that devil and surprise, surprise… They choose themselves over you, then decide your course for you. Their schemes, their stage-handling, griping your arm too tight – we see it. Worse, they see you see it. They don’t care that you see it. They’re doing it for you. You’re just a child.
After all, I’ve been squealing like a pig. Save me! Save me! But it’s wolf-crying gone on for too long and too loud. It echos around the hollows and draws the wrong kind attention. By the time I’ve figured out how to stand up, I nearly tip us over. I’m grabbing your forearms, careless of the weight of the oars in your hands. Suddenly distracted in your arm hair, I take an awkward step closer, forcing you to move back. Yet another rebalance on our horizon.
This time, though, it’s my face catching you unaware, letting you see my intent. My neck cranes to the side to catch you, determined to have my man. This time. If anything, I rationalize, in the end. The seriousness scares him. I’m never this way. It sets us rocking. All I see are those moments, kissing in the paddleboat beneath the stars, waning. Waning until they’re gone.
He has the audacity to believe I’ve lost hope and blinks to find I’m practically in his lap. The motion sends my wild hair straight into his mouth which had fallen agape. I’m wrapping it up and swearing I’ll chop it off and toss it overboard tomorrow. Just like the oars I see floating away… Wait, the oars! I’m startled back into the here-and-now, but there’s no time to breathe a word of it.
Today, you say, and I fall silent. Today.