13. Alistair
Pippi.
A new name. And new words to come with the name.
Pippi.
It is hard. To let her go. But I have to. She belongs on land. And even I can’t keep her safe from the waters in a storm.
“I-I’m…I’m here,” she calls.
“I know. And I’m glad. You’re safe, Pippi.”
I am glad. But I’m also not glad. I want to call her back. While she is with me, I feel…
Different.
But… not different.
My mind is clearer. I fight less to find words. And she fills my head with new words and old ones. Words that had slipped but have now returned.
I feel more…like myself.
I’ve forgotten what it is to speak to another—to have my questions answered. To be asked questions in turn. To hear someone laugh over words I’ve spoken.
I hear humans laugh nearly every day. I see their smiles and joy when I am called to the surface to amuse them. Once, those sounds and faces would make me feel joy. I like to make humans smile and laugh.
But that joy slipped. Vanished, with many of my words. I can’t say why.
Maybe I’ve grown tired. Maybe I ache too much to speak with the humans, not just amuse them. Maybe I let too much of myself slip.
But I haven’t felt joy…
Until Pippi laughs. And it’s…the sound of her voice, the knowing that she’s scared, and lost, but trusts me enough to laugh.
My heart stirs. How long has it been? Since I felt this…the stirring? The ache of seeing someone so…so…
There is a word, to capture the feeling…
Enthrilling?
No.
Enthralling.
Yes.
The tilt of her head when she smiles—a full, genuine smile. It is off, her smile.
No…
“Off” isn’t the word.
Or perhaps it is?
She smiles more on one side…
Crooked.
Her smile is crooked. And the shape of it enthralls me.
But her eyes enthrall me most of all. Their softness. Warmth. Kindness.
I wish I had more words for the way I feel.
“ Tomorrow ,” we promise.
We’ll meet again… tomorrow.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the drag of a day, the waiting for a tomorrow .
In truth, I allow those words to slip.
Today.
Tomorrow.
Yes-yes-yeserday… yesterday.
They are meaningless to me. Or they were. But now I have a tomorrow to yearn for.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow I will hear her voice again.
Tomorrow I will converse.
Tomorrow I will remember what it is to feel myself .
Something inside of me tightens—a feeling I would not have had a word for before. But now the word comes easily.
Impatience.
I remember now.
Impatience.
And I remember how very long it is, to wait for a tomorrow.