Seven Tears at High Tide

by C. B. Lee

  Morgan follows Kevin. They duck inside the rock opening, and Kevin blinks and waits for his eyes to adjust. The sand beneath his feet is still damp, and the air is cool here in the shade, ripe with possibilities. Kevin doesn’t know how far the cave goes, but he wants to find out.

  The cave echoes with their footsteps and the drip drip of water trickling steadily from the walls.

  “Wow, look at this!” Kevin pauses to look at the reddish brown clays and lighter, nutty golden streaks of sediment slashing across the cave wall, turning his head to admire the angle of the striations. “I wonder if we’re inside a small fault.”

  Morgan touches the wall. “A fault?”

  “You know, like plate tectonics, a huge crack in the rock where there’s been movement over time.”

  Morgan nods. “Ah, there is a place underwater where the land slowly grows, moving apart.”

  “Yeah!” Kevin says, tracing where the red-brown grains meet golden with his fingers. “Underwater diverging plates are really cool. I’ve seen pictures. I want to study geology in college,” he adds. “What about you? Do you know what you want to do?”

  “Fish.”

  “Marine biology is cool, too,” Kevin says. “My dad teaches it at Cal Poly. It’s really awesome. He’s studying sustainable fishing practices and the local marine ecosystems. You could probably ask him stuff about it sometime. I’ll introduce you.”

  Morgan grins, and something warm and pleasant flutters ner­vously in Kevin’s chest. He wasn’t expecting to like the guy. Kevin doesn’t have experience with people crushing on him; it still seems unbelievable, as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Morgan to announce it was a joke. Hanging out with Morgan was more interesting than studying for the SAT, and the nice thing would be to get to know him, maybe figure out why he likes Kevin, odd as that is. Morgan seems so nice and down to earth, and he actually seems to—

  Something out of the corner of Kevin’s eye catches his attention. At first he thinks it’s a wetsuit someone left behind tucked behind a loose boulder, but then he steps closer and runs his fingers along the edge and finds it’s sleek fur, still slightly damp with saltwater. Kevin wants to take a closer look, but Morgan says, “The tide is starting to come in.” His voice is tinged with fear. He grabs Kevin’s hand, interlacing their fingers.

  “Right, we should get out of here.” Kevin allows himself to be pulled out of the cave.

  Kevin’s had a lot more fun than he expected on this outing and decides to take Morgan to the cafe on Main for lunch. It’s good timing: no tour buses are offloading tourists heading to Hearst Castle. Other than a family in one corner and a small group of hikers huddled in a booth, the cafe is empty. The hikers whisper intently to one another and have topographic maps and photos of seals from the rookery sprawled out over their table. Kevin raises his eyebrow at the amount of hi-tech gear they all seem to have: expensive, moisture-wicking fabrics; top-of-the-line backpacks and trekking poles and what seems to be a lot of navigational equipment.

  The hikers seem to be on an elaborate scavenger hunt—geocaching, probably. Kevin’s tempted to ask if they’re geologists when he recognizes a Brunton compass, an expensive piece of technical field equipment not meant for casual orienteering. But he’s more interested in hanging out with Morgan, so he ignores the hikers.

  Kevin leads Morgan to his favorite booth by the east window and asks him to wait while he gets them an order of fish and chips to share. Morgan seems to be fascinated by everything in the cafe; he’s slowly taking in all the decorations and cheap fishing memorabilia on the walls, the faded photographs and news clippings about the town and especially the people enjoying their food. Morgan avidly watches the family eating together in the corner and listens to the children laugh as they watch a cartoon on a tablet. Kevin can’t help smiling when he sees Morgan watch the toddler flick from a cartoon to a game.

  A bell chimes from the front counter and Kevin thanks Sue, the owner; he ignores the eyebrow waggle she throws at Morgan waiting for him in the booth. He brings the tray to the table; steam rises from the seasoned food. Kevin sets it down and gestures at it all, but Morgan just watches, staring reverently at the bounty until he makes the first move.

  Kevin goes for the French fries, relishing the taste of hot oil and crisp potato. “Here you go.” He nudges the tray toward Morgan, who picks up a piece of fish and sniffs it. Kevin gives him an encouraging look. Morgan seems as if he’s taking his time to catalogue every part of this experience. “It’s good, promise.”

  Morgan takes a bite of the fried fish, then groans happily around the mouthful. “I’ve never had fish like this before,” he says after swallowing.

  “Your family strict on junk food?”

  “We eat everything fresh.” Morgan takes another bite with his eyes glazed over.

  Kevin chuckles and pushes the small dish of tartar sauce at him. “Here, try it with this.” He picks up a piece of fish and dunks it generously in the sauce and eats, finishing the piece quickly and then wiping the grease off on a napkin.

  Morgan copies him, and then his eyes widen as he chews slowly, clearly savoring the taste.

  “French fries,” Kevin says, nudging the plate toward Morgan. “And ketchup,” he adds, setting the ketchup dish in front of him. Morgan pops one fry into his mouth, makes a satisfied happy noise, grabs a handful and dips each one in ketchup and then stuffs his face, one fry after the other. “Slow down there,” Kevin says, laughing.

  “It’s so good,” Morgan mumbles with his cheeks full. A fry dangles from his mouth; ketchup is smeared on his cheek.

  Watching a guy eat shouldn’t be this endearing, but somehow it is. The way Morgan dives right into trying new food, enjoying every bite, eyes sparkling with exhilaration, is refreshing, and Kevin wonders what other types of food he could introduce Morgan to, just to see him enjoy it.

  Kevin grabs a napkin. “You’re a mess.” He takes Morgan’s chin gently. Morgan goes still and lets Kevin wipe his cheek. “Good food?”

  “The best,” Morgan says.

  Kevin realizes he’s still very much in Morgan’s space. He scoots back, blushing.

  “Your mom cooks super healthy or what?”

  “My mother,” Morgan says slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, “my mother insists we h—”

  “Oh, ice cream! Dude, you should have some while you’re out, if your family is strict on food.” Kevin jumps up, eager to treat his new, sheltered friend, dashes to the counter and orders the house special—a large ice cream sundae with all the toppings.

  Sue winks at him as he waits at the counter, bouncing impa­tiently. “I’ll bring it out to you boys; go ahead and sit back down.”

  Kevin gives her a grateful smile and turns around, only to bump into a solid mass—one of the hikers, an older man, whose face is twisted in a frown. “Watch where you’re going.”

  “Sorry.” Kevin throws his hands up in the air, backing up.

  The man mutters something as he slides an empty table over to join his group. His two companions, a black woman with her nose buried in a book and a redheaded man typing away on a laptop, look up.

  “Well? The summer is only so long, get a move on,” the old man says, folding his arms. The other two quickly spread out more maps, and Kevin glimpses coordinates on the laptop screen as he passes by.

  “You guys on a scavenger hunt or something? We don’t really get a lot of geocachers here,” Kevin says, trying to be friendly.

  The woman gives him a small smile, but before she speaks the redhead says, “Get lost, kid.”

  The old guy glares at Kevin. “This is science, not some scavenger hunt.” He spits the words out as if they’re not worth the breath to say them.

  “Whatever.” Kevin’s got ice cream on its way and Morgan to hang out with; he doesn’t need the approval of rude strangers. He settles
back into the booth to find that Morgan’s finished all the food.

  “You’re gonna love this,” Kevin says, tapping his fingers cheer­fully on the table.

  Morgan leans back in his chair and stares at the empty plate, looking sated and also slightly embarrassed that he finished the meal. “I finished all the food gift that you shared with me.”

  Kevin waves him off. “No worries, you can get me next time.”

  Morgan beams. “Yes, I can definitely bring you a food gift—”

  “Order eighty-seven, house special,” Sue says, approaching their table.

  “Thank you,” Kevin says. The sundae looks glorious: nuts and cherries on whipped cream, rivulets of chocolate and caramel sauce cascading down three scoops of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry ice cream.

  “Whoa,” Morgan says, eyes widening.

  “You and your date enjoy, sweetie,” Sue says and places two spoons on the table.

  Kevin can feel his face turn red. “Um—”

  Morgan is already digging in, not paying any attention to the statement. He looks completely relaxed, spooning mouthful after mouthful of the dessert. “This is the best food gift anyone has ever given me.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” Kevin plucks a maraschino cherry off the sundae and plops it into his mouth. “My mom likes the healthy stuff, too, but she doesn’t mind me pigging out every now and then.”

  “Your mother and you are different looking.” Morgan is blunt, but curious. His voice lacks the tone of condescension Kevin is used to hearing when people ask about his family.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty obvious I’m not white,” Kevin says, rubbing the back of his neck. He spots his reflection in the shiny chrome napkin dispenser: a blurry Chinese guy with floppy black hair and skin tanned from days spent on long hikes looking for rocks. “My dad remarried when I was four; she’s always been Mom to me.”

  Kevin loves Rachel and has fond memories of growing up with her and his dad, but sometimes he wonders what his birth mom was like. In the living room is a slightly yellowed photo of his family when he was a baby and another black and white photo of his birth mother on the mantle. Kevin has sometimes wondered how he was supposed to grieve for someone he doesn’t quite remember. His father and Ann had a more difficult time of it, but Kevin only has stories of her, what she was like. “My birth mom died when I was a baby.”

  “Oh.” Morgan pats Kevin’s hand. “I am sure both of them love you very much.”

  “Your mom tells me you went on a date.” Mike waggles his eyebrows.

  “Dad,” Kevin says, rolling his eyes.

  “How’d it go? Do I need to give you the talk? Do you have any questions about—I did my research, you know,” he says, smiling. “If you need anything, I can get you—”

  “Dad, I’m not, we’re not—” Kevin starts, horrified that this conversation is taking place.

  His parents were nothing but sup­portive, perhaps a little over­zealous, when he came out to them in freshman year. He came home from school the next day and found pamphlets on every­thing from peer resources to guidelines on safe sex, and his mother had even purchased him “magazines.” It was such a waste of good masturbatory material, too, since Kevin just couldn’t get it out of his head that his parents had bought him porn.

  His mom also bought herself a “PROUD OF MY LGBT KID” sticker for her car and his dad began wearing a rainbow pin everywhere. They even started a support group for other parents of LGBT youth when they found out there wasn’t one in their small town. Kevin hadn’t planned on being out at school, not just yet, but then Mrs. Williams ran into his mom at the grocery store and she was wearing her PFLAG pin, all proud of her bisexual son, and, well, Skylar Williams threw him in a trashcan the next day.

  Kevin loves his parents, even if their eagerness to support him has meant he was out sooner than he expected. But he’s had way too many awkward conversations with his dad about sex to want another one.

  “You don’t need to get me anything. We’re just hanging out. It wasn’t a date.”

  “Sue tells me you two shared a sundae and looked pretty cozy,” Rachel chimes in.

  “The two of you.” Kevin shakes his head and heads to his room.

  “Awww, our little boy is all grown up and falling in love,” Mike says.

  “I’m not in falling in love!” Kevin yells down the stairs, and he can actually hear his parents giggling. He shakes his head fondly as he enters his bedroom and puts the bucket on his desk. Morgan was right: They do love me very much.

  He pulls the stones from the bucket and starts to polish them, whistling as he does.

  Four.

  Many things about being a human take a while for Morgan to get used to: the way his body needs to balance itself when he walks, the way sound isn’t a feeling, the whole way the world looks. The way the human eye sees colors is one of the most interesting things; so many different shades appear in abundance, everywhere. It’s all dazzling and beautiful.

  Some of his abilities as a selkie cross over to his human form as well: the acute sense of smell by which they can recognize one another out of the water and sense emotions. It’s so interesting, the clouds of contentment and exhaustion and joy and hunger and excitement that float around the humans Morgan has interacted with. The most interesting is Kevin, of course, who still carries an underlying scent of loneliness and dejection, but there were many moments during their outing when he smelled of nothing but interest and a quiet, flourishing happiness. Morgan is pleased that he seems to be doing well in providing Kevin the companionship he asked for in his Request.

  The best part about human culture is the food. It’s so different, so strange. The first time Kevin gave him a food gift, Morgan’s whole perspective changed. He still enjoys snapping fish right out of the water, fresh and raw, but the fried food was so delicious.

  Morgan doesn’t normally hunt this long if he’s on his own and not part of the hunting party tasked with bringing food back to the herd. He would usually only eat his fill and move on, but today he’s determined to return Kevin’s favor. He swims, finding relief in returning to the water as a seal, listening for schools of fish. The Sea welcomes him back; the old collective magic of the depths offer encouragements. A wealth of knowledge flows here, centuries of stories and spells and emotions fed to the oceans, dreams and hopes and desires.

  Morgan should probably consult how previous Requests were filled and learn more from the Sea about the human world. But there is only so much transference; the gift of language and under­standing is inherent, but many details don’t cross over in translation. The Sea understands emotion better than mundane, concrete facts; Morgan knows Kevin is lonely, knows about what he wants and what he fears, but he doesn’t understand some of the things he talks about.

  It’s fine. Morgan learns best by doing, anyway. He learned to swim this way, throwing himself into stronger currents than his mother allowed. She worried, but Morgan figured it out eventually. The same with hunting: Because he was the only halfling, the herd always babied him, but Morgan works hard to be a useful member of his family.

  He’s an excellent hunter. There’s no one to show off to now, but Morgan is diligent, concentrating on getting as many fish as he can. He’s ruthless, grabbing one fat fish after another and tossing them in a pile of seaweed. Unsure what Kevin will like, he gets a variety. By the time the sun comes up, Morgan has a formidable, twitching pile of fish and he’s never been more proud.

  Morgan wraps the food gift in the prettiest pieces of kelp he can find. He almost wants to show this bounty to his cousin Micah, who’s always rubbing it in his face that he’s a poor excuse for a selkie. Morgan snorts. He bets this is more fish than Micah has ever caught at a time and tries to imagine his poor cousin’s expression when he realizes the poor halfling is a better hunter than he’ll ever be.

  Being a halfling is not somet
hing for which Morgan is often teased in the selkie community. Over the generations there have been a few halflings, children born to selkies and humans, some who met through Requests and others by chance. He knows he’s the first in a long, long while, and he doesn’t know much about his human father, except that he’d done the disgraceful thing and stolen his mother’s pelt, hiding it from her, trapping her in her human form in hope of keeping her forever.

  Morgan remembers asking about his father, but it always seemed to make his mother sad. Despite the stoic face she presents to the rest of the herd there is always an undercurrent of loss in the awe-filled stories—exaggerated, Morgan’s sure—of finding her pelt and stealing away with it, pregnant and triumphant in the middle of the night, then returning to the Sea where she belonged.

  With Morgan, she’s never used the same language the herd does, never called his father a cruel kidnapper or a grubby mudwalker. Whenever he came to her with questions, her mood changed and she would look out toward the Sea. Eventually she would kiss Morgan on the forehead and tell him not to worry about it. Morgan learned quickly to stop asking.

  Did she love his father? Does she miss him? Does she wish their story had ended differently?

  Morgan shakes himself. It won’t do to put himself into that sad, curious mood about his parents. He focuses on admiring how lovely his food gift looks all wrapped up and tucks another piece of kelp securely around it.

  “You should do a bow,” says a voice behind him; the familiarity of it is soft on his skin.

  “A what?”

  “Humans totally do it on their presents.” Naida flicks a piece of kelp at him. “I should know; I spent a good year on land.”

  Morgan doesn’t need reminding; Naida flaunts her knowledge of human culture every chance she gets, choosing to speak as they do all the time, which is annoying, since the Sea has little information on the specifics of human vernacular.

  Morgan is tempted to ask her about this bow, but he doesn’t want to give Naida the satisfaction, so he scrunches up his face. “What are you doing here? I’m on my way to shore.”