30. Pippi #2
“Do you have flappers?” I blurted, suddenly itching with curiosity. “Like in all the Loch Ness Monster paintings? Or are you more like a big sea serpent? Slithering around without legs?”
Alistair chuffed. “I have flappers.”
I dragged my toes along his side, reaching as far down as I dared.
“They’re beneath your fins— feet . They’re beneath your feet.”
I stopped paddling, letting myself sink down to my chin.
My toes still traced the rolling shape of Alistair’s shoulder.
“Would you like to see them?” Alistair asked.
“I wouldn’t be able to. If they’re that far down, I’d have to dive. And I am not diving that far. Nope. Even if I did, the water’s too… Eeeek !” I bit off, gasping, when Alistair abruptly plunged headfirst into the water.
His body slithered in an impossibly long arch, following his head down, down, down …
It seemed never ending.
Forty American feet never looked so long.
His butt rose into the air as his front sank down. And he had a tail, a thin, whippy tail that he flicked in a little wave before his bum finally disappeared beneath the surface.
And then I was alone, doggy paddling against the waves, surrounded by the dark, knobby expanse of the sea.
Little sparkles of fear singed my belly and stunned my muscles, locking them. Only for a heartbeat, but long enough to give the waves a chance to stuff me under the surface.
I kicked, thrusting my head as high as it would go above water.
Overhead, the stars twinkled through the curdling fog soup. Teasing me with how far away they were. Making me feel the insurmountable distance between me and them.
The surface seemed just as insurmountable when you were trapped beneath the sea, as I’d been the other night.
“Pippi.” Alistair threw me a solid rope of calm.
I clung to it.
“You’re safe,” he said.
And then?—
A sploosh to my right had me scrabbling, twining my head that way.
A long, curved flapper poked out of the water, wiggling at me.
“They’re not my most a-a-a- attractive part,” Alistair said. “But since you want to see…”
A second flapper popped up beside the first.
And, with a heavy sploosh, two stouter flappers emerged and began waggling to my left side.
And I almost laugh-cried in relief.
Because those flappers were caging me. Protecting me.
Alistair had gone under the water, but he hadn’t gone far, staying directly beneath me.
The first flapper twisted into a seductive wave. And now that I’d calmed, and didn’t have checkerspots bouncing over my eyes, I could get a proper look at those appendages.
“Oh, Alistair.” I laughed. “You might win the ugliest feet award.”
Alistair’s flapper paused and straightened in mock shock. “You don’t find them attractive?”
Not even a little.
They were, in a word, horrid —wrinkled green-scaled limbs wrapped in a thick layer of crusty barnacles.
“I mean, they’re not a deal-breaker. As long as you keep your socks on.” I grinned.
“Ah.”
With a sticky schlup, all four flappers disappeared, only to reemerge several seconds later with tangles of hissing seaweed twined around them. “Better?”
Stars above.
He really was a goofball, wasn’t he?
A certified class clown.
It made me giddy.
“Perfect,” I said. “The socks do the trick.”
“Good.” Alistair gave all four flappers a vigorous shake. Blobs of seaweed pelted my head.
“Alistair!” I shrieked with laughter.
He chuckled and whisked his flappers back under the water.
“Ugh.” I raised one hand to my head, grimacing at the hot goo of the seaweed. “My poor hair…Oh gosh, you’re back.”
Alistair’s two curved horns pinged above the surface.
But the rest of his head rose slowly, following the bloom of the next wave.
The water split itself over his forehead, trickling down on either side of his face, creating a rain shower over his eyes.
But he didn’t seem to notice. He slowly, slowly , allowed the rest of his head to rise, turning those orange eyes to me.
And his face.
Goodness…
He drew his lips back, putting his razor-sharp fangs on full display. It might’ve looked menacing, if he wasn’t overexaggerating an overbite, and deliberately making himself cross-eyed.
That was a doofus face.
And he amped the doofus up several more notches with his chirpy “Boo!”
“You”—I wheezed and flailed in between bouts of giggling—“are a derp.” I spat out a mouthful of water. “Has anyone told you that?”
“Deeeeeeerrrrrppppp.”
“Oh my goodness.”
“I used to hear…not that word, but others. I think they’re the same.
” Alistair dipped his chin back into the water and sidled forward, scooping his nose under me.
“You’re cold,” he added as he raised the rest of his head out of the water—gently, so I didn’t flop and pinwheel myself back into the ocean.
I scooted back to my usual place between his horns.
Alistair gave a long, contented hum.
“Do people not ever see your derpy side?” I asked.
“Pardon?”
“You said you used to hear you were a derp. Do you not anymore?”
His purrs rattled to a stop. “No. Not for a long time.”
And there was his sorrow again, cutting through my bones, making me ache. For things like home. Or my friends. For the comfort of a simpler life.
I lowered myself into a sitting position and reached down, rubbing my hands over the top of his head. “I’m sorry…”
“Don’t—” he began.
“I’m sorry that I can feel your pain,” I continued, “but I don’t know how to ease it. And you eased mine. I wish I could do the same for you. But I’m not sure how. So I’m sorry.”
Silence stretched between us for several long heartbeats.
“Pippi, I-I…”
Alistair started. And stuttered to a stop.
“How…”
Again, he chewed on a word and then spat it back out.
“I wish…”
I kept stroking the top of his head, giving him the time, the space, to sort his thoughts.
“I think…” His words were syrupy as he started speaking for the fourth time. “I’d like to tell you my story now.”