My (Crazy) Reality

Curiosities of Seafoam

Deep in the sea, where the water is green like the eyes of a wanton princess on a starless night, lives a Sea King and his loyal subjects. They live past any port or peer and could never be reached by man or land mass, or even by ship at sail. And it is in this place, far beneath the emerald tarp that shields them from the sun that the Sea King’s castle stands taller than all the coral reefs one could ever imagine piled up on top of one another like children’s blocks.

We must not believe this place to be one of water void of plants and sand. No, indeed. In this kingdom is a plot much like the one we land-dwelling mortals walk. But it’s better than that. Here, in this place beneath the sea, one-of-a-kind flowers and plants sprout hope and colors human eyes have never seen before. In this place, fish of every rainbow stripe flutter like butterflies through endless indigo leaves. And still, in spite of all the color of an artist’s palette and so much more, the heart of the painting lies in the Sea King’s majestic fortress. The castle’s walls, lined with pink and lime-green coral, stand proud even on the slowest of days—where fish move slower and plants take bows of grace. Its roof, like the gems of a crown made only for a queen, is made of the finest of shells—a pearly white so bright, you could imagine biting into it and tasting peppermint or marshmallows. Through the castle’s tall amber windows which reflect back the colors of the day, one can almost always catch glittery bits of sun rays—almost. But not quite.

In spite of it all, there’s a sadness here. The Sea King is a widower. He has lived here with his aging, bitter mother for years. She’s kept house for him, but only as he’s listened to her high esteem of where they’ve come from and how she is truly the matriarch of the sea. Even still, he’s told himself, she has looked out for my daughters—six stunning sea princesses with skin as clear as the inside of an oyster shell. She’s kept a close eye on them—sisters who spend most days fluttering about the castle halls, playing with living foliage that grows through the walls, and making crowns they put atop their heads to show where they come from.

Mostly, the girls don’t have trouble obeying their grandmother’s rules while the Sea King attends to important things, like working with the council to keep ships that come closer and closer at bay. For now they are content to work in the gardens, just outside the castle walls, that their grandmother allows them to plant in unsupervised. And as unique as each sister is, so too are their creations. The first sister, who swims with the longest tail, is the most cautious of course, as oldest children generally are. She plants burgundy flowers in perfect rows in the shape of a square. She tends to the garden every day, attentive to how the flowers bring out the burgundy highlights in her long wavy hair. She, like all of her siblings, has the torso and body of a land-dweller. It’s at her stomach where her fishy tail begins—the color of hazelnuts with dashes of teal. Like the others, she has no human feet. It is only with their tails that they are able to move so gracefully.

The sisters were rumored to be the most beautiful mermaids ever to grace the sea. For this reason, Grandmother has many rules. Father does too. While the girls can leave the castle walls to work in their gardens, they are not able to swim past the deep blue haze that covers the coral reefs to the north and south. So too, they are not allowed to swim past the servants’ quarters to the west or the rock cave to the east. Instead, Grandmother says they must always be in shouting distance just in case. And if they obey these rules, on their sixteenth birthdays, they will be allowed to swim beyond the castle gates to gaze out at the sky and moon which they’ve used as a nightlight all their lives. Mostly, the girls are good about following Grandmother’s rules. But sometimes, on the darkest nights, when Grandmother is fast asleep, the youngest and prettiest of the mermaids likes to go to the edge of the servants’ house and peek past the haze. She’s sure there’s a bigger world out there and, at eight years old, feels that another eight is just too long to wait.

This youngest child is the one Grandmother worries about most. She has good reason to. She’s seen the way the servants look at her granddaughter’s auburn hair and have answered her curious questions with stares just a little too long. That one, she’s told the Sea King a million times over, is going to be trouble when she turns sixteen.

But this is something the king already knows. For his mother is a cranky woman but a wise one too. Fully aware that Ariel has been sneaking past the cave to the west as well, he tries not to think about it. Like it or not, his youngest daughter reminds him of his late wife who’d never worn a crown and thought his mother to be a prude. It had to happen of course. The odds of not having a daughter who took after Andrea were just too rare. He didn’t like thinking of his beloved Sea Queen’s demise but always sensed Ariel might share her mother’s untimely fate—turning herself much too young into a swirling ball of seafoam all because of stubbornness and a silly curiosity about what lies outside the land above the sea.

It was true. Aside from her tail and flawless skin, Ariel was nothing like her sisters and exactly like her fiery mother. Her brilliant blue eyes could never stop moving. They darted around, intensely stopping from time to time when she wanted to figure something out. While her sisters took great joy in weekly outings with Grandmother to find treasures brought back by servants from lost vessels, Ariel couldn’t help but let her thoughts drift off. Even as a young child, she’d felt cheated in only being able to touch the souvenirs of another world. Instead, she wanted to visit it—to meet the land-dwellers who’d made such things she’d never have a use for under the sea and ask them about it.

It’s her curiosity, Grandmother said, that will eventually get her killed. Why can’t this be enough? She’d say, handing the littlest mermaid this or that and telling her to put the new treasure in her whale-shaped garden.

"But what is it? What is it used for? Where did it come from?" Ariel would ask.

Oh. Who knows? You never mind that. You make it into anything you want to, Grandmother would reply. It never changed. And eventually, Ariel had stopped asking—counting the days and years until her sixteenth birthday where she’d be able to ask, and even see, for herself.

Today, for the first time in a long time, eight-year-old Ariel feels hopeful. Earlier in the day, just as the fish were beginning to come out from between the coral shelves, a servant man had tapped on the glass of her half-open bedroom window. She creeped her head out and asked him what the fuss was about. He presented her with a statue of a land-dweller. It’s made of stone and came from a ship, he said, that sank to the floor of the ocean long ago. In that moment, it didn’t matter that the rule was for Grandmother to excuse them from their rooms. Ariel swam out that window, thanked the man, and took the statue. She placed it promptly in her garden between the golden flowers with the funny-shaped petals. Now, sitting on a tiny bench made of coral, she reminds herself it won’t be long before she can talk to such a boy.

She stares at him, wondering if he could possibly have thoughts like her. She ponders the hows and maybes that come with curiosity of whether or not land-dwellers wonder what it’s like under the sea. What would I ask him? What would I say? What would he think of me? Finally, she gets the nerve to speak her thoughts out loud—introducing herself as the Littlest Mermaid. He does not answer her. It’s okay. Maybe if I keep talking to him, he will someday.

Grandmother doesn’t notice that Ariel isn’t in her room today. Instead, she’s preoccupied with Ariel’s oldest sister, Remy, who turns sixteen today. Tonight, Remy will do what Ariel wishes for most in the world, which is travel to the top of the sea. Her sister will have the chance to see the stars, the moon, and even the shoreline. The youngest mermaid listens quietly, rolling her eyes as Grandmother lectures her sister on the intentions of land-dwelling boys. You must only sit on the rocks to look at the stars under moonlight, she says. The servants say the ships are getting closer. It could be dangerous. Stay close to the rocks and come home before dawn.

Yes, Grandmother. Of course. Please, try not to worry, Remy says.

Ariel rolls her eyes again. Fin kisser.

Even envious, Ariel can’t help but be excited that Remy will come back with stories from above the sea. She plans her questions out, knowing Remy will only stand for so many before calling her strange and telling her to wait her own turn. It was just how Remy could be. Secretly, Ariel didn’t know why her older sister seemed not to like her. Maybe, she’d decided years ago, it wasn’t because of my blue eyes but more because Remy was Grandmother’s clone.

Yes, Grandmother. I will be careful, and I’ll be home well before dawn. Please don’t worry.

Ariel rolls her eyes for a third time, blowing kisses in the direction of the statue of the boy in her garden. She’s moved him five times today, trying to decide on the perfect spot. Finally, she’s settled on the base of a rose-colored weeping willow that dances on the waviest of days. Ask her what it looks like. Ask her how many stars are really in the sky. Ask her if she sees any boys. Is this really what they look like? Ask her if humans really move on stumps. Find out if humans can see through the water. Are they looking at us? What do they think of us? Ask her the color of the ships and the moon. Find out how tall the tallest mountain looms...

The day, and later, night, drags on and on and on. Finally, Remy returns. And, oh, how it was worth all that waiting, Ariel concludes. The girls sit around a marble sea stone, listening to Remy recount all the things she’s seen. They make a pact that each sister will share the most beautiful thing she saw with everyone, so none of them miss out on the exciting things above the sea.

The most beautiful of the things, the oldest mermaid says, was lying on a sandbank with the quiet sea and gazing at a town far away where lights flashed and from which the sound of something called music came.

It was the sounds, she says, that were most beautiful of all. They were nothing like the sharp squeal of a whale’s call.

Instead, she recounts, I heard the voices of humans floating through the sky and the bell of a church steeple marking time.

Remy recounts these things so articulately, and without annoyance, that Ariel is surer than ever that the land-dwellers have it made. She vows, then and there to behave and do anything Grandmother wants her to. If I’m good from here on out, she decides, maybe Grandmother will loosen up and will let me swim to the top of the sea before I turn sixteen.