Effects Vary by Michael Harris Cohen

Author:Michael Harris Cohen [Cohen, Michael Harris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cemetery Gates Media
Published: 2022-10-04T00:00:00+00:00

Another Mother

She wakes, gasping, sputtering sea and sand, thrashed by coughs, till the saltwater is out, only air in her lungs, at last.

She breathes.

Alive.

Her eyes focus. A beach. No boats or houses. No people. An island. No lights but the moon and its shine on the sea.

Endless sea. It’s calmed now, a sheet of black metal. Not like before.

The memory of the storm cyclones her head, as if she still reels under house-sized waves and shrieking winds, the terror of the sea depths. Of her death.

She wrenches her thoughts back. She’s here. Alive. Unlike her boat, whose bones nod in the waves, she’s unbroken.

Gulls skitter the sand, silver in moon glow. The sky is clear. Waxing gibbous moon, a shotgun blast of stars. Beautiful. But weather turns fast in the islands, she knows, swift as the storm that flipped and pulled her under. Though the sea spared her.

It spit me out.

She slaps her face. Hard. Focus!

Sodden and dazed, teeth chattering, she hauls herself to her feet.

Shelter. Then, in the morning, water.

The thought of water, how there may be none, singes her throat. She clamps back tears. Trudges inland, as gulls scatter.

#

The girls huddle by the stream. Their bodies twine for warmth, young muscles shuddering. It’s an effort not to move, to stay hushed, but darkness and silence are allies.

As always, the youngest cannot hold her tongue. It squirms in the cave of her mouth until she speaks.

“How long must we wait? Where’s mother?”

An older sister pinches her arm. “Shush.”

The older girls are more patient. They know she will come, or someone. Someone always comes, if the sea wills it so.

#

It’s still dark when the woman jolts awake. She had a nightmare with Lucy, her daughter, lost in the storm. Lucy sank to the sea-bottom; the woman watched. Frozen. Unable to save her.

She shakes off the dream. Lucy is at home. Lucy is safe.

She discovers two granola bars in her jacket pocket. She shreds a wrapper and devours one, savoring chocolate’s sweet drip in her throat.

Three bites and it’s gone. She tears the other wrapper, then stops.

She must be smart. Ration. She must find water. Her dizzy head pounds with thirst, her tongue like sand from the sweet oats.

At dawn she walks the island. Rock. Heat. Green lizards. The gulls. Little else.

Till close to midday, a miracle. A burbling stream. The tight fist of her heart unclenches. Water. Simple, sweetwater.

#

At midday, a woman stumbles to the stream and sprawls onto her belly. The girls watch as she drinks greedily.

#

She drinks till her belly swells, forcing herself to stop so she doesn’t vomit. She stretches on her back and laughs out loud. It’s not food but she’s full. She knows she can last a long time with just water.

A shuffling from the brush. Four girls pop-up on the opposite bank, silent as rocks.

She sees their tattered clothes, their long hair, unbrushed and knotted, like gnarled branches. They’re thin like branches, too. The youngest looks the same age as her Lucy.

#

The girls offer tears and trembling lips.

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