by Shel Delisle
Suddenly Bella glides by. I lay my hand to her side. It’s silky, like rushing water. Then she’s gone.
Come back, I call.
Bella’s back. Then Nica flies by.
Again.
And again, more times than I can count.
Bella dives under. Her silver fluke is the last part to disappear.
Where’d she go?
Nica glides up and elevates half of her body out of the water in front of me. She towers over me. She’ll be back. You’re a strange-looking dolphin.
It’s amazing to understand their dolphin language, or maybe I’m hearing their thoughts like Nica just heard mine.
She smiles at me with a gentle, ageless face. Follow me. She disappears exactly like Bella.
I press the goggles the way Sam showed me and flipper under. There’s silence as large as the ocean itself. Then a sound like a creaking door and click, click, click. I exhale a little, and only hear the sound of my bubbles.
Bella swims at me and then elevates to brush the surface. She’s created a large ball-sized bubble that she pushes around with her bottlenose, and then taps it to Nica. They bat it back and forth. A game. Finally Nica bites it, creating a million tiny bubbles.
I gulp underwater the last of my air. Surfacing, I gasp and swallow a huge inhale, then re-submerge.
Bella’s made another bubble and nudges it to me, but when I try to send it back, it pops. She makes another and this time, with the palm of my hand, I touch it. The bubble wobbles, bouncing through the water until Nica swims up, plants it at the tip of her snout and swims away with it.
Incredible.
I flipper to the surface and tread water. I sense them underneath, a powerful pressure building. Side by side, they break the surface and leap, arc, splash over my head. A face full of water. Salty drops on my lips. Amazing. I must remember to breathe.
Higher!
Bella and Nica are gone, submerged. They leap again.
Wheeeeeee! There went Bella.
Wahooooo! And that’s Nica.
They fly so high. They shine in the last rays of the sun. Bella’s belly is impossibly neon pink. Raspberry lipstick pink. Spring impatiens pink. Nica’s is a softer pink, like the baby girl shade from Desiree’s crib set.
Splash.
Leap, fly, arc. Nica wobbles, a clumsy puppy with paws too big to control. Bella’s a well-trained gymnast, her jumps: ten, ten, a perfect ten.
I lift my arms to fly but only float.
At this instant, they’re my pod: the dolphins. Bella touches her flipper to my side. You want to jump?
Of course, but I can’t, I tell them.
You can. Bella and Nica swim away, and I feel the pressure below the surface again. They place their snouts into the soles of my feet.
Like a hard little fist, they push.
Water rushes around me as we pick up speed. My chest lifts out of the water. I’m one with them as I crest halfway out of the water. The setting sun blinds me. One last push, and I’m flying.
I am Dolphin Girl.
Bella agrees. You are.
You’re one of us. Nica clicks.
My mouth is stretched into the widest grin possible. A dolphin grin, one that never fades.
The two girls circle me again, and Bella spins away and under. Reappearing almost instantly, a huge piece of seaweed dangles from both sides of her snout. She opens her mouth, filled with hundreds of tiny teeth, and I reach in to pluck it out.
Bella chirps, I love you.
I let her know, Me too. I love you.
She swims forward, and I kiss her. Her snout is hard, like kissing a rubbery elbow. Nica swims to me, and I kiss her too.
There’s more love in these dolphin kisses than my human kiss with Travis. I’m totally blissed-out and look at the shore. I see Sam. It doesn’t matter if he loves me. It’s enough just to love him. I hope we get to kiss someday. I do, I really do.
Nica tells Bella I love Sam.
Bella whistles. I can tell.
Nica bumps me. We have to go now. Are you coming with us to meet the others?
Bella splashes Nica with water. That’s her pod on land. She can’t come. Bella’s older and wiser.
Yes. They are, I tell Nica, sad to leave them behind. But I’m so glad to have met you.
They hover in front of me. Bye, Janey. And then they whirl away so fast I can’t follow them even if I wanted.
~~~
Walking out of the surf, I feel gravity. All the kids cluster into their pods, but it’s different from the main hall. They seem more — together — mixed in amongst the sand sculptures.
Lexie runs up, throws her arms around me and says, “That was incredible!”
In turn, Willow, Lucas and Tara are lined up behind her. They each give me a hug while Sam stands off to the side.
I take the goggles to him and he bends, kissing the middle of my forehead. He folds me into a hug, rocking back and forth. “That was the best,” he whispers.
When he lets go, I shiver, unsure if it’s the ocean breeze or Sam’s victory hug.
“It was good, huh?” I’m trying to read Sam’s expression, staring into his deep brown eyes.
“It was sick.” Nigel is sitting on a raggedy blanket right next to me and Sam.
Andre agrees. “Yeah, totally hardcore.”
Nigel pushes Andre off the blanket and makes a lame attempt to shake out the sand. He wraps it around me. It smells like sweat and reefer and beach. The sand scratches, but I am warmer with it.
“Thanks,” I say.
Sam follows me as I head to a grinning Irwin. Nigel’s blanket flows behind me like a queen’s robe.
“Fifty points,” Irwin says. “That made me happy.”
I hug him, and his grin grows impossibly wide. He’s wearing a dolphin expression.
“That, too.” He takes his clipboard. “Any other points I need to count?” he yells to the teams. Alana, Brendon/Brandon and Karen Perry walk up to our circle.
“I gave her goggles,” Sam says. “That’s help, right? And Nigel gave her the blanket.”
Alana sneers. “That was quite a show.” She’s baiting me, but I don’t take it. “So Irwin, who won?” she asks.
“Jane’s team,” Irwin says.
I wrap Nigel’s blanket tighter around me. “We did?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m just trying to figure out by how much.” Irwin’s fingers fly over his calculator.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say.
Irwin stops and takes this corny cup trophy. “The winner of the first annual Western Everglades Scavenger Hunt is The Bohemians.” He hands me the cup and I turn it over to Lexie, who screams and does a little booty dance, pumping our trophy over her head. Willow, Tara and Lucas start dancing with her and drag me into the circle.
But getting the cup is not nearly as satisfying as the swim.
Sam grabs my elbow and steers me away from the celebration. “I need to talk to Alana about some stuff, but I wanted to thank you for not leaving me at Wendy’s and letting me see you swim and everything.”
He hugs me one more time and I don’t want to let go, but I do. “Later!” I use a casual voice that doesn’t fit with my mood.
Sam walks over to Alana, who smiles up at him.
I head over to my best friend, who’s still a maniac boogie machine.
Lexie stops dancing. “You know what Sam did while you swam?”
I shrug.
“He didn’t take his eyes off you and didn’t say a word until the end when you kissed the dolphins. Then, he whispered, ‘lucky dolphin.’” Lexie smiles.
“It doesn’t matter.”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Willow treks toward us through the sand, holding my purse in front of her. “Your phone rang five times while you were out there.”
I dig for the phone, find it and flip it open. Five calls, five messages. All from John about thirty minutes ago. I know without listening what they say but play one just to be sure
.
“We have to go. Now!” I say to Lexie. “Take me to Memorial Hospital.”
The social group of adult female dolphins is called a matriline, meaning that pods of adult females often contain mothers, daughters, sisters, grandmothers and aunts. These close ties with other female relatives are the most pronounced during the birth of a dolphin calf, when the female relatives assist in bringing the newborn to the surface for its first breath.
(Excerpt: The Magic and Mystery of Dolphins)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Desiree is hee, hee, whooing, but no one laughs this time.
She went into labor today, two weeks early. I arrive to the birthing room late, crusted in salt, hair matted. Mom stands next John and they hover over Desiree, who is half-sitting, half-laying in her hospital bed. Although it’s only three weeks since I left home Mom looks years older. Worry lines ripple across her face and dark circles are anchored beneath her eyes.
“Jane.” Her voice catches and she motions me over to the bed. My throat tightens.
I ease next to her and her hand encircles my shoulders, pulling me in for a squeeze. I want to tell them I swam with the dolphins, but don’t. The room except for Desiree’s breathing is as quiet as a chapel.
Our surroundings are not what I expected. When Desiree had explained birthing rooms to me as “a more natural environment where John, the baby and I can all sleep together,” I’d envisioned a hotel room. But the birthing room is a hospital room with makeup. If you put makeup on a guy, it’s easy to tell he’s still a guy. And even though they’ve tried to pretty this up, it’s still a hospital room. All the equipment and gizmos are a constant reminder of that.
I wonder if this bothers Desiree, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
The nurse snaps a glove off and gives Desiree’s ankle a gentle pat. “You’re coming along fine.”
John holds Desiree’s hand while she wrings his, clutching it so tightly it’s gotta hurt. Eyes worried, he wipes her forehead and whispers something to make her laugh.
Mom hasn’t let go of me. Her arm is wrapped around my waist, her hand rests on my Dolphin Girl tattoo. It surprises me that she hasn’t scolded me or made a big deal about the fact that I’m wearing only jean shorts, a swimsuit top and flip flops in the hospital, but, well, there’s a baby on the way so I guess that’s a bigger deal.
As the labor gets harder and harder, it comes to a point where I can’t stand to watch Desiree struggle. There’s something heavy caught in my chest and throat, like the baby is laying there instead of in its womb.
The nurse says, “Time to push.”
Suddenly John leaves Desiree’s side and sits next to me on the sofa, head in his hands between his knees. Mom’s taken John’s place, holding Desiree’s hand, and the midwife is positioned to deliver the baby.
I’m an awkward intruder. I don’t belong here. If Desiree had not asked me to come, I’d bolt for the waiting room and sit with Dad.
I tap John’s leg. “Go to her.”
John just shakes his head.
Desiree is gone. It’s not her tranquil Madonna face, and it’s not the scared expression from earlier. She’s totally inside herself.
The nurse comes over to us. “Are you okay?” she asks John.
This is funny because Desiree is the one in pain. Then I think about the finger stick at the pre-natal appointment. How I thought it was a big deal.
I’d let the doctor stick every finger and toe every day for a year if I thought it would ease Desiree’s pain. But I know that won’t help. It occurs to me this is how John feels. Helpless.
Mom lets Desiree squeeze her hand ’til it turns purple. She whispers near Desiree’s ear, “You’re doing great. Almost there, honey.” Is this my mom?
After midnight, the baby gets closer, and the nurse rubs the top of the baby’s head in circular motions to lower her heart rate. It works. On the fetal monitor, you can see the baby calm. It’s hard for her, too.
“One more push,” the midwife says. And it happens so fast I almost miss the birth. She pops out. Not a pretty sight — all wet and scrunched.
Is she okay?
Seems to be, because everyone is laughing and crying at the same time. The nurse lays the baby on Desiree’s belly while John bends over to give them both a kiss.
“Do you want to cut the cord?” The nurse hands a pair of surgical scissors to John. He hesitates and passes them on to me. I never knew he was so squeamish.
I stand over Desiree and the baby, place the cord between the blades of the scissors and squeeze. It’s like gristle on a tough steak, rubbery and thick. Even at birth, the cord that binds us to our mothers is powerful.
“I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough.”
Mom comes over and lays her hand on top of mine. With the added pressure we’re able to cut the cord together. We both laugh with relief.
The nurses bundle the baby away to clean, weigh and measure. Her head is enormous, and her legs are peddling away kinda spastically. They’re really short compared to her body.
“Is she all right?” I ask Mom.
She’s wearing a blissed-out expression. “She’s perfect.” If anyone would know…
Mom leaves to get Dad and when they return he asks, “Have you decided on a name?”
Desiree looks at John. “We were thinking Lillian Jane. We’d call her Lily — like the flowers Jane’s going to paint in the nursery. And ‘Jane’ is after her godmother.” Desiree gives my hand a squeeze.
I look from her to Mom. She beams a smile, and then we’re all crying.
The nurse demonstrates how to swaddle Lily. “Babies like this because they still think they’re inside. Hold her head close to your heart. The rhythm is comforting.” She hands the tightly blanketed bundle to Desiree.
Lily’s listened to Desiree’s heartbeat for nine months. It must sound a lot like the muffled underwater murmurs Bella and Nica make.
John stands at Desiree’s shoulder, stroking her arm. But right now she only has eyes for Lily. She gazes at the baby, smiling and focused, and then hands her to John. As soon as the baby is in his arms, he melts too.
It strikes me that this same scene — or a very similar one — happened when I was born. It’s hard to fathom, but I know in the deepest part of me, it’s true.
Lily makes a tiny noise that could be fussing. John looks momentarily afraid and tries to hand the baby back to Desiree.
“Do you want to hold her?” Desiree asks me.
I’m stunned by how tiny, light and still the bundle is. Lily’s peaceful, sleeping face is framed in black, uneven hair. Her face is still a bit scrunched, but it’s no longer scary.
“Who will you be like?” I ask her silently.
Disciplined like Mom, or untamed like Desiree? It’s possible she’ll have a little of each. Will you be a little like me? Whatever that means.
All of a sudden she opens her deep, deep blue eyes and rounds her lips into a perfect little O. She’s looking at me, but it’s like she can’t quite see me.
That’s not quite right. She just sees me differently than others do. She sees me through a baby’s eyes, and I wonder what that looks like. I’d love to paint it.
Welcome to the world, sweet baby. Welcome to our pod, Lillian Jane.
~~~
After the nurses have left and we’ve all taken turns passing Lily around many, many times, Desiree yawns.
John points to the couch. “Home sweet home. That’s where I’ll be sleeping.”
It hits me hard. I have no way back to their apartment and even if I did, it would be so lonely there tonight.
Mom slips her arm around me. “Come home, honey?”
Home? It’s not really a place anymore.
I nod once, and we stroll out of the room together tossing out, see you tomorrow and bet we sleep better than you. That kind of stuff.
The car ride is as silent as when we were timing Desiree. At one point, Dad pats Mom’s leg and says, “You can relax, Liz
.”
“I can’t relax.” She sighs. And there’s silence again.
Right before we get to the house, Mom turns around halfway in her seat and whispers, “Can we talk for a minute when we get home?”
Car doors slam, and I feel so awkward. I haven’t been here for three weeks, but it feels much longer.
Mom follows me to my room. The first thing I notice is the bed’s made, the clothes are all hung. This doesn’t surprise me. But what is a shock is how Mom left everything else of mine alone — the mobiles, the bulletin board. It’s still my room.
Flipper’s tank has been moved to my desk. He swims in little loop-de-loops.
“You fed him.”
Mom shakes her head. Her eyes are sparkly and wet. “Your dad. He never missed a day.”
I can’t believe Dad fed Flipper. Was I wrong about his apathy? I sprinkle a few flakes for my fishy and then face the wall across from my bed to look at the mural.
Ah. Without a doubt, it’s the best painting I’ve ever done. I could tell it was good, but not how much so until I’d been away for a while. Still, I see ways to make it better. Like, I’ll paint a bright pink belly for Bella, or I’ll paint Nica playing with an underwater bubble. And now, I can paint me.
Mom crumples onto my bed, finally speaking. “Jane, it’s beautiful.”
What? “You like it?”
“Like it? I love it.”
I’m speechless. This isn’t what I’d expected. Then I notice all my plastic tubs stacked on the floor in front of it, and there’s a tube of midnight blue paint that’s been used. Somehow I missed the intricate frame around the mural. I get closer to examine it.
Someone has painted the words “Jane and the dolphins” over and over and over again so that it frames the entire mural. It must say it hundred times, maybe more. The script is neat and delicate. It would’ve taken forever to paint that.
“You?” I point to the frame.
“Me.” Mom smiles and brushes the comforter next to her for me to sit. When I do, she pats my leg. “Honey, I know we’re very different people.” One tear escapes, and Mom wipes it away. “That’s not new.” She laughs — an uncomfortable sound, like when you stub your toe and laugh at yourself, even though it hurts like heck. “Lord knows I don’t do everything perfectly.”
