Sirens of DemiMonde

by N. Godwin

  We are now twenty and twenty-two, respectively, and it’s like Martians came down and stole their innards and left these andropods here in their skins. And it makes me mad to think I’ve given them the best years of my life! But we are at the beach and I won’t get mad. Not today. Nope, can’t make me. Sssh.

  I miss them; them not these andropods. These are not the same cousins who helped me lace mean-old Aunt Ruth’s chocolate pudding with Exlax or mix up all our congregations’ license plates. Now, they’ve barely a smidgeon of Christian charity.

  Praise Jesus and pass the mascara! Like too many others before them, they have disappeared down into that dark tunnel where logic is a big no-no, where science and reason is sin, and a woman’s identity just disappears after her eggs dry up. The Godpods are our very own American Ayatollahs. Stands to reason we’d be related.

  I can tell Alan and John are even a little afraid of them because as we spread out our blankets they are paternally positioning themselves in between the Godpods and Cecile and Kelly. The twins keep staring at the girls as if they had cooties.

  I’ve allowed my cousins to come along because I was hoping they would add a little levity to the day like they used to, plus I thought I could pay off my obligatory family-duty in one fell swoop while away from the cafe. No such luck. As Alan grabs Cecile and Kelly’s hands and runs them down to the breaking waves, I can feel the twins look around before disrobing down to their swimsuits.

  I’d chosen this place because it was out of the way, yet there are still others here today whom I choose to ignore out of respect. I stare up at the blinding sun and suddenly feel chilled and hug my arms into my chest. Even here, in the bright warm light of day my ordinary seems under attack and I am so confused.

  “Look at what a lovely day the Lord has made for us,” Karen is saying as she finally sits down carefully on the end of my blanket.

  “I can feel Him all around us!” Ali says and spins around.

  “He is here today, on this beach,” Karen insists in awe. “I can feel Him all around us.”

  “Whose here?” John asks looking around the near deserted beach.

  “God!” the twins insist.

  “Can’t you feel Him?” Allison-Ann asks incredulously.

  “He’s all around us today,” Karen says severely. “I wonder why you can’t feel him?”

  “Oh Lord,” John sighs. “I need a beer.”

  “We certainly don’t all deserve this peace and beauty today, do we Lord?” Karen says.

  Isn’t today going to be fun?

  Karen is the oldest twin by three minutes and definitely the ringleader of the Godsquad. Physically, she is neither pretty nor ugly, just somewhere in between, lost beneath mounds of red hair (that is not happy in humidity) and freckles and condescension. There isn’t one outstanding feature about her, except for maybe her size eleven feet. Emotionally, she used to have this amazing sense of humor and all but now such displays are forbidden because they’re evil or unfeminine. I forget which.

  “It’s like our precious savior knows something goods gon’ happen here today,” Allison-Ann add then conspires with her twin by the nod of her head.

  And then God sneezed. Allison-Ann has not been fortunate in her facial features. It’s odd how the very same features can be altered ever so slightly and transform plain into “uh oh.” The most minute exaggeration here, a smattering of understatement there and voila! You have sixty or seventy years of “She’s got this great personality.” She has a beautiful body though because Hobie calls her a double-bagger. I always pretend this makes me madder than I really am.

  I spread out my blanket and lay down on my belly with my arms crossed under my head. I turn my head and can see Alan by the shore introducing Cecile and Kelly to the dos and don’ts of the Gulf of Mexico. The girls look really cute in their matching Minnie Mouse swimsuits. They’ve both already donned their masks and snorkels (compliments of Alan and John) even though their feet aren’t even wet yet. We had a debate about whether or not black skin burns before we’d left Target’s parking lot since none of us knew for certain. We decided to play it safe, figuring that skin is skin, and have slathered the girls down with so much Panama Jack 45 that they look a zombie gray.

  It is a tremendous day. I check out the iridescent prisms of quartz within the sugar-white sand in my palm and study its reflections in the noonday sun. Sometimes when you look at the grains of sand individually you can see bright pink quartz in one grain and aquamarine or emerald quartz in another. Our beaches are famous for this amazing sand, quadrillions of glistening grains of multicolored glass. Our sugar white sand is soft and squeaky and gives way to the contour of your body. Needless to say, sleep is inevitable once your head hits the blanket.

  I love to daydream here. We’ve got our own history that compares to any faraway place I can imagine. Homer would have loved it here. Odysseus didn’t. Ponce De Leon’s wife is buried over there somewhere on that barrier island and Sir Walter Raleigh was known to bury treasure in our coves before engaging in battle with the Spanish. Pirates and Indians loved our waters. We get treasure hunters here all the time exploring one bayou or another.

  “These waves just makes you wanna tune out everything else and be still and listen to His mighty power,” Ali adds taking off her shirt and sitting down beside me.

  I look at the twins quickly, wary of anyone telling me to be still and listen to anything, but Karen and Allison-Ann are both staring at the noisy group of men playing volleyball just a hundred yards off to our right, so I turn my head and study my cousins closely for the first time this year.

  The Godpods live with Aunt Mary in Memphis, Tennessee most of the year now. Both are enrolled in a Baptist college there but they don’t want to take it too seriously though because God-forbid they should interfere with a man’s rightful place to get a job first or something equally as poignant. They say the Bible clearly states that women should fight the urge to be smarter or more aggressive than a man (should one of us be so inclined by some freak of nature), because “it robs men of their masculinity and turns them in to predators, misogynists, or queers.”

  John turns the radio up and I give in and lie still, aiming toward lizard-lazy and decide to be still and listen to the breaking surf roll in. For some odd reason I am trembling faintly despite the heat. I listen as Cecile squeals with joy while Alan jumps her up and down in the waves. I listen to John tell his next joke and the nearby men grunting loudly each time they whack the volleyball over the net.

  I think it’s safe enough so I untie the straps of my favorite bikini top (that has already caused my cousins to give me at least half a dozen condemning glances because my flirty ruffled swimsuit is just a little too daring for their new modest tastes even though Ali’s swimsuit is skimpier than anything I’ve ever worn. Plus we’d agreed way back when that we are allowed to be normal at the beach!). I’d bought the red swimsuit because its ruffles rustle in the breeze, so sometimes when I close my eyes real tight and hold out my arms it feels like I am flying against the wind. Nonetheless, I keep my straps within easy reach since Karen is staring at me as if I’d lost what little sanity I have left despite the fact that, years ago, she’s the one who convinced me it was safe to untie my top at the beach in the first place so I wouldn’t get strap marks! But I will be calm and still. I will not take their bait.

  Ohm.

  Ali has decided to read us her favorite book, Revelations, while John turns the radio up even louder and Karen still refuses to get out of her Garfield t-shirt and probably won’t till Hades freezes over! But I am at the beach so I look away and begin studying the few people strolling along the beachfront. Different makes and models walk with their own particular reasoning past my line of vision. Some make eye contact and nod, sharing a silent bond from one sun worshiper to another.

  I turn my head and rest my cheek on my hands, welcoming the lull of sleep. I breathe the balmy air in deeply, deeply, and drift, carried on the warm, salty, winds. I a
m drifting somewhere...somewhere intoxicating. But right before I can get there I am unexpectedly stopped. Everything is suddenly jarring, irritating and I want to drift into sleep but my senses won’t let me because my cells feel accelerated, overcome and I am unable to pass. Screeching noises in my head, blaring, beating, disrupting, and as I open my eyes I feel the earth solidly shift.

  I am studying the sand in my hand, seeking an explanation from these pristine colors because I have come to expect power from the mundane, from secret organisms others cannot see. The power seems to emanate from out of the sand. I follow it down my fingers, into the sandy beach and beyond, down to the shore.

  I fight to ignore the intrusion because all I want is to be left alone for thirty minutes so I can take a nap. I try harder to fight, but notice as the guys twenty yards away by the shore stop jogging abruptly in front of me. Their actions seem to insist I look. I raise my head slightly and momentarily study the two of them. Both are huge beasts of masculinity and are very tall, one black, one white.

  These are not your basic, garden-variety dudes because they are ripped and toned almost to the point of ridiculous. They’re older, late twenties or early thirties I’d guess, and are the type of primed flesh where each muscle is operating at maximum throttle, and not just for show either but professionally utilized. Definitely military. They remind me of Greek gods come down to earth to raid Troy. I close my eyes and smile trying to decide which Greek gods they would be.

  For some reason I open my eyes again and find them staring back at me. Of course these guys can’t be certain I’m looking at them because of my mirrored sunglasses, which is exactly the reason I’d bought them, but still they do not move, only stare.

  I nod at them anyway because this is the beach, after all. My eyes are pulled to the tallest one, the white guy who looks like Apollo. His chiseled body seems to be frozen in surprise as if we’ve startled him somehow and he holds himself in awkward limbo as he stares back at me. When the black guy leans over and says something to him and laughs, I realize both these men look familiar—but, then, most every man looks familiar to me, so…

  I study their close-cropped hair, their clean-shaven faces and their eyes hidden behind sunglasses, and realize I’m only being paranoid because I most certainly do not know these men. So I look away just in case they mistake my look for more than summer curiosity.

  Karen studies John and then begins chatting to Allison-Ann about the unclean trash that inhabits the earth, how all they want is flesh and Ferraris while Ali reads another happy prophecy about locust covering the skies. I look back and that Greek god is still standing there staring at me. This time he catches my eye and mouths Hello. His smile is almost clairvoyant so I look away from that nonsense as quick as I can.

  This time I don’t look back and can hear as the two men join the group of other men playing volleyball. I bury my fingers in the sand and momentarily allow myself to follow the pull of this odd power again and it can’t help but lead back to that group of loud men. I should have noticed before how every man over there is toned, tattooed, sweaty and in primo shape. These guys don’t pump iron for fun. They are the real McCoy.

  I realize these men are SEALs from our Navy lab, probably here on loan for the summer from somewhere exotic. SEALs are legendary here because these killer elites eventually come here to train in one top secret program or another. But you’re seldom ever aware you’re seeing even one, let alone watching a whole team of them at play, because part of their covert training is to mix and mingle and never stand out, or so the legend goes.

  Yeah, right. Maybe they can mingle with their shirts on but once those shirts come off it’s a dead giveaway. Rumor has it they can kill you in two seconds or less and can read the minds of their adversaries just by looking you in the eyes.

  Hmm, tell me it wouldn’t be fascinating to do some serious brain-picking over there…Just for research, I mean, of course. Now tell me a lightning bolt wouldn’t smack me flat if I did.

  It suddenly occurs to me that so far I’ve only been concentrating on deleting names from my list and not on educating myself how to actually carry out my ridiculous mission when the time was right... Because I do not know how to kill a human and seriously doubt I’ll be able to pull it off let alone get away with it.

  Ah, crap, I’m going to have to give consideration to the delivery system whether I like it or not! There are realms and repercussions I haven’t even known to consider. God, I am so ridiculously stupid sometimes! But we are at the beach today and nothing is going to distract me from this indulgence. Nothing!

  Ooooohm.

  I look up at the sky and try to clear my mind quickly but can’t, so I watch the SEALs play volleyball, anything instead of listening to my cousins. It’s maybe five seconds before I can’t help but laugh out loud. Even their play seems vicious. Volleyball is no idle game to these warriors. It’s serious, intelligent work.

  Even my eyes can’t help but be drawn back to Apollo. You can tell he’s their alpha. See how the other men keep looking to him for an opinion. In mid-slam of the ball Apollo cocks his head and looks over at me. I look away noticing that Ali has stopped reading. She seems to think we are in the presence of masculine greatness because she’s struck this pose and her nipples are clearly hard. I look down at mine and laugh.

  Nope.

  I look up and Apollo’s staring at me again and holding out his hands tauntingly, signifying the distance between us like he’s doing me some massive favor. His gaze is consuming and deliberate and I don’t like it. Yet… there’s something there that won’t let me look away. Then he blows me an exaggerated kiss and I can look away entirely. Karen and Ali are saying something about being baptized and John turns the radio up yet another notch and we listen to Stairway to Heaven and try not to make eye contact.

  I lay my head back down on my hands and inhale the glorious day. The warm sun... The sounds of the waves... The warm wind… And that scent; that delicious scent that stirs my memory…

  I exhale softly, feeling an odd tingling sensation, one that is eerily familiar to my body but not to my mind, and I know I am inside the dream again, the dream with no beginning and no end. My limbs know what they’re going to do next but my mind can only watch it play out in slow motion. There is that disturbing quickening again and the anomaly fascinates me as my body obeys. I am running towards something now, running quickly toward the scent because I think I’m being chased. My quest is urgent as the clouds swallow the water all around me and I strain to listen for the voice to steer my way.

  I can hear another voice now, beckoning me toward somewhere I am not allowed to go and this confuses and frightens me. I listen to the other beast behind me ambling toward me on quick sure footing, kicking aside boulders and trees to reach me, and I am frightened because my mind senses only danger but my body betrays me and will not move as the beast approaches on a vast tempest. There is a hideous face, dark and ravenous that looks like a black mask over a skull, and I cry out in fear when this beast of hell throws back his head and roars to the heavens. Its bellows bring the lightning and thunder dangerously close to me, vibrating the earth and sky, yet still I cannot move.

  The thunder abruptly stops and I am lifted as the beast softly calls me by a foreign name my body seems to know. I momentarily reach towards the enchanting voice, towards the sacred light and scent from this beast. But when I raise my hand to his face the voices change suddenly and are replaced with cruel laughter. I can only watch as the beast lashes out with his terrible claws and gashes putrid nails deep into my flesh, painfully dragging my body forward while it shakes me until I can’t breathe, can’t focus, and I realize I am going to die if I don’t get away! I know this to be true and I decide then and there that I want to live!

  I scream and struggle turning my head side to side, knowing that if I can move an inch, only an inch this madness will stop. “No! I scream and jerk back hard with all my might. “No! Please! No! Stop!”

  Suddenl
y, there is too much light and I can hear John’s concerned voice in my ear as he shakes me lightly until I open my eyes. “Are you okay? Whoa, Jimmy-Sue, I think you were having a super-sized nightmare, girlfriend! Are you okay?”

  “Nightmare? Oh, thank God!” I say and rub my eyes and try to catch my breath.

  I shudder and feel a sting from where John’s hand has touched my shoulder. Yet within the sting there is a slight quickening. I stare up at him and can see through him, clear beyond bones and mass, deep into his beating heart.

  “How could you not have a nightmare?” John muses, flicking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the twins as I rub my eyes and look inside him until he becomes solid again.

  I am clearly rattled and Ali and Karen are studying me oddly. I watch as their shadows grow tenfold and block my sun. “You know,” Karen enlightens us, “bad dreams are the work of the devil.”

  “Oh my, yes.” Ali nods in agreement.

  “Is the devil trying to reach you, Jimmy-Sue?” Karen asks earnestly as she surveys my face and frowns. “Do we need to join hands and pray for you?”

  So I look beyond them and Apollo is staring at me with a predatory scowl etched across his perfect face. He catches my eyes on him and he smiles slowly. For some crazy reason my heart leaps in my throat because for a second he reminds me of one of the beasts in my nightmare! I look away quickly and gladly tune back into even my cousins.

  “But I thought y’all were Baptists,” John is saying.”

  “Eww, we’re not Baptist!” Ali says.

  “We’re not that kind of Catholic either!” Karen adds quickly. “We’re Catholic Fundamentalist. We’re descendants of the first witness.”

  “What’s that mean?” John tries hard not to ask, but can’t seem to resist.

  “We were the first witnesses to see.” Ali offers.

  “See what?” John asks with more than a little hesitancy.

  “If you were one of us you would know!” Karen snaps.