Speed of Dark by Patricia Ricketts

Author:Patricia Ricketts
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2022-01-25T00:00:00+00:00

MISHIGAMI MEETS JACK

SEPTEMBER 7, 1980

Joy? What brings me joy, you might ask? Has Nibiinabe not always brought me . . . well . . . jouissance? Mais oui! From the first time she set foot into my wake. Perhaps even that is an understatement for I knew for twenty years that my Nibiinabe would come to me. And I waited patiently, portentously. However, after those first years of near daily visits, I did not see her for a long while. Oh, how I mourned the loss of her, fearing that I would never see her again.

But came to me, she did.

It was an afternoon of impending turbulence, which I knew from Brother Zephros’ quixotic, magenta bursts. And there she was lunching on a sunny beach. At first, I did not recognize her. She had become rounder in the face and through her middle, and the russet of her hair had turned to a duller cinnamon. A man sat next to her tearing at a bread sandwich with large, impressive teeth while she nibbled on one corner of hers. I could not tell if she was aware of me or not, so I sent a wave up near their feet to test the memory of her taste and sound. She turned and looked at me, but then quickly turned away, back to him. I could see that the joy on her face was not for me, but for the one with the square-cut teeth.

Oh, and he was enthralled with her too. I could tell from the sparkle in their eyes. Sparkle like the crystal islands that dance upon my shoulders. Sparkle like the stars that sprinkle across the night sky. Sparkle like the ringing currents that ripple across my surface when I see her approaching me.

I suppose one might say he was dark and handsome—for a human, that is—lustrous, curly brown hair, strong straight spine, thick muscular hands. I did not resent her attention to him at first, as he did not seem to be speaking much to her, whistling instead a haunting tune after finishing his sandwich. And when he did speak to her, I could not hear what he had to say, but whatever it was, it made her smile. And her neck flashed a deep shade of rose, not unlike that of a strawberry bursting with its first flush of sweet juice.

That I did not like.

They walked along my shore, pant legs rolled up, splashing their feet as they went. Brother Zephros began lifting the hair off the back of her strawberry neck. The man reached for her hand and folded its small curve into his. She did not pull away as they continued their splashing walk. She tried to match her steps to his in stride and tempo, but had to skip alongside him to keep up. Something in the power of his grip on her hand niggled at my calm. I recall my suspicion creeping into a worry. I had to protect her. I had witnessed her being taken advantage of many years earlier.

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