h. l. nelson<\/p>\n
When the slits open on my neck, at first it doesn\u2019t feel any different than taking a normal breath, like I\u2019ve been breathing this way my whole life. I\u2019m standing in my bathroom after a shower, inhaling the escaped tub-steam, toweling my hair, and thinking about the argument my girlfriend Lindsey and I just had. I\u2019d showered to calm down, relishing the heat and reassuring pat of droplets on my skin. She\u2019d threatened to leave again, and that panicky feeling had taken over. Heartbeat like a drum circle, the weight of gravity a whale on my chest, ragged breaths like I\u2019d been running since we met.<\/p>\n
Sometimes she screams like she wants to be heard by the whole world, smacks my cheeks and arms, and one time, she smashed the guitar my dad gave me before he died. This anger comes from her black hole, so I don\u2019t get mad. It sucks in everything until there\u2019s nothing left. No light, no warmth. But I let her do these things to me because I love her, because I want her to let it all out.<\/p>\n
I can\u2019t bear the thought of her leaving. When I was eight, my mom left. Just thinking about Lindsey leaving too makes my throat close down small. I can\u2019t breathe with her here or with her gone. I don\u2019t know what to do. Leaning my arms on the counter and looking in the mirror, I see my steamed-over face.<\/p>\n
I tell myself Lindsey is not that bad. <\/i>\u201cShe could be worse,\u201d I tell the foggy face in the mirror. I decide to apologize and hang my towel on the hook.<\/p>\n
That\u2019s when I feel skin unfolding on my neck. Like someone is opening several tiny potted meat lids. After breathing through these new openings for a moment, my brain registers that my nose has stopped working. My intellect kicks in. Inhaling through the slits is like eating through my bellybutton. I have to have water. Now. But what water? I have no idea. I\u2019ve only been a land-dwelling being. Water\u2019s for baths and showers, pools, for beach vacations and summer sprinklers with my friends.<\/p>\n
I gasp and flail, call \u201cLindsey!\u201d then this new biological imperative takes over and I pop in the sink stopper, fill the sink, and plunge in my head and neck until my nose touches the bottom. The slits suck in the city water, and somehow I don\u2019t drown. I decide they\u2019re gills. I remember learning in 7th grade science how fish are ectotherms, how their survival is dependent on their environment.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve never been able to open my eyes underwater, but now I do. It\u2019s wonderful, the way my hair strands\u2019 shadows almost shimmer, undulating with the water\u2019s slight movement. I move my head and the shadows dance.<\/p>\n
This water is warm. It\u2019s quiet. I still myself and listen to my heartbeat. The lub-dub is my sonal signature. I am unequaled in this sink.<\/p>\n
When Lindsey trudges into the bathroom she screams, \u201cWhat the hell!\u201d while trying to pull my head out of the water. I gurgle, \u201cNobe, I canb\u2019t beb outb ob waterb nowb!\u201d I\u2019m pretty sure she doesn\u2019t understand what I say because then I hear her through the water on her cell saying, \u201cYes, I\u2019d like to report an emergency. My boyfriend is trying to drown himself.\u201d<\/p>\n
I yank my head out and try to gather air into my old lungs while yelling, \u201cNo, hang up! This isn\u2019t what it looks like!\u201d before I have to drop my head back into the water.<\/p>\n
It becomes clear that we won\u2019t be able to communicate the way we always have. So I pull my head out again and wheeze at Lindsey to get me a notepad and pen. When she brings them, I blindly write, my arms on the counter, Grew gills on neck. Must stay in water. We can make it work,<\/i> and push the notepad her way. She\u2019s had it up to her own neck with me, I know. But I don\u2019t want this gills thing to be the end of us.<\/p>\n
I can\u2019t see her reaction, but I motion for the notepad again, and write, Have idea. Put Gilligan in\u00a0a glass and bring me his cleaned bowl, sealant, and that 3\u2019 stretchy rubber w\/ 6\u201d hole cut out middle.<\/i><\/p>\n
Through the water I hear her say, \u201cAre you kidding me?\u201d I write, No. Please. I have to breathe.<\/i><\/p>\n
She stomps off, then after a while comes back with the things.<\/p>\n
My gills are screaming for air by the time I bend over and pop my head in the fish bowl. Displaced water sloshes out, but then I can breathe again. She glues the rubber onto the bowl and seals the edges around my neck. I\u2019ll probably get a bad rash, but I\u2019d rather that than die of suffocation.<\/p>\n
Once I\u2019m sure the sealant is dry, I slowly stand, holding the bowl steady. It\u2019s unwieldy. Lindsey looks at me like I\u2019ve grown two heads. I burble, \u201cComb hereb, babeb,\u201d and try to pull her into my arms. She flinches and pulls away. It\u2019s then I wonder how we will kiss. She marches into the bedroom and shuts the door. I decide to give her some time. This thing is hard for both of us.<\/p>\n
I walk to the kitchen and see poor Gilligan in a short glass on the counter. Feeling bad for him, I sprinkle some food in the glass. He doesn\u2019t eat any, so I know he\u2019s upset. I lean down and say, \u201cMeb toob, Gillb. Meb toob.\u201d He probably doesn\u2019t hear me, through two glass barriers and all the water. Shaking my head and slopping the water from side to side, I wonder how Gilligan does it, day in, day out. Tomorrow, I\u2019ll buy him a new bowl.<\/p>\n
My stomach grumbles. Looking in the fridge at the cold cuts, cheese, grapes, I realize I have no idea how I\u2019m going to eat. I lose my appetite and decide to go to bed. At the bedroom door, I turn the knob and it\u2019s locked. I rap on the door and speak through it, \u201cHeyb babeb, comeb onb andb openb upb.\u201d I wait for a response, but there\u2019s none. I let it go and head toward the couch.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m unable to get comfortable with the fish bowl on my head. Even sitting up in the recliner is uncomfortable. The water drowns out the fridge\u2019s click, the living room fan\u2019s clack, all the constant electric hum. While sitting there, I remember a conversation Lindsey and I had once. We were talking about emotions. She\u2019d said, \u201cI think humans and animals are hungry, all the time. A great, gnawing hunger for love and affection over anything.\u201d I\u2019d said, \u201cOver anything at all? What about food? What about air? We have to eat and breathe.\u201d She\u2019d just glared at me like she does. I pulled her in for a hug, stroked her hair and said, \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I know what you mean.\u201d I think about this for a long time. Eventually I fall asleep.<\/p>\n
Lindsey picks me up out of my fish bowl and holds me over the toilet, a sinister grin spread across her face. Then she throws me into the frigid water and I\u2019m swirling, swirling . . . I feel myself freezing before I\u2019m even pulled into the toilet\u2019s dark recesses. I wake up with a start, thinking my face and head would have a cold sweat if they weren\u2019t already in water.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s 4a.m., but I try the bedroom door again. This time it opens, and I know she isn\u2019t upset anymore. I undress and slide into bed, press against her, feel her heat on my flesh, trying to keep the bowl tilted as far on my side as possible. It\u2019s awkward, but I still feel myself getting hard. Even with gills, I\u2019m still a man.<\/p>\n
I can\u2019t kiss her body awake, but I softly rub the skin on her arms, the dip between her shoulder blades, the curve of her throat. She rolls over, but her eyes are shut tight so she won\u2019t see the bowl. I don\u2019t mind. I\u2019m past the point of caring. Then she sits up. Uh oh. I know what she wants. I\u2019m going to give it my best shot.<\/p>\n
She climbs on top of me and slides down. I\u2019m lying on my back and the bowl is very uncomfortable, but at least it sinks into the bed somewhat. Then she starts doing that hip thing. I love it, but the sensation of the back of my head hitting the inside of the bowl, the water jostling around, makes me panic. I jerk my head up and almost collide the bowl with her head, catching it right before impact.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019mb sorryb babeb. Giveb meb justb ab secondb, okb?\u201d<\/p>\n
She nods, but I can tell she\u2019s exasperated. She didn\u2019t get off. Dammit.<\/p>\n
I have an idea, and run to the bathroom, filling up the tub enough to cover my head. I light the candle she has in there, then come back and pull her to the bath. I bend over, take the bowl off my head. The sealant rips off some of my skin, but I don\u2019t care. I submerge myself in the tub and motion her in.<\/p>\n
She gets in and straddles me like she either can\u2019t wait or she\u2019s pissed. For half a minute she bobs up and down, the tub water slapping in waves back and forth, back and forth. I don\u2019t even care that on the back strokes, the water uncovers my gills.<\/p>\n
She stops. Then I hear her loud and clear through the water, \u201cDammit. The water keeps going in my vag. It\u2019s freaking me out. I can\u2019t fucking do this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNob nob, don\u2019tb stopb.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, I want a boyfriend, not a goddamn fish!\u201d She pushes herself up and out of the tub.<\/p>\n
With her back to the candlelight, her face is in shadow. What I can see of it through the water and dim light looks foreign to me, as if I haven\u2019t been sleeping and living with this girl for five months. This angry girl. I feel for sure she would hold my head down in the water until I stopped thrashing, if I didn\u2019t have gills. I hope she doesn\u2019t break my fish bowl.<\/p>\n
When she fumes out, I stay in the bathtub. I stay there all night.<\/p>\n
The next morning, I awaken with patchy scales all over my body. My thoughts start to repeat themselves, words take longer to form. I randomly open and close my mouth.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s hard to climb out of the tub. My body is shrinking. I lope to the kitchen, lope back, dump Gilligan in the bath. With great difficulty, I climb back in, circle around the tub. I am weightless. I stay here for what seems like days while Gilligan\u2019s fins tickle my shins, now completely covered in scales. I look down at my changing toes.<\/p>\n
Soon, I won\u2019t have fingers to call anyone, to write anything, to touch Lindsey. I will only swim and breathe.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019ll be back soon,\u201d I say to Gill and myself. \u201cI\u2019m sure she will.\u201d<\/p>\n
I think small now. Gill is friend. But sad. Must think think. A face. A name. Is Linn-see. I keep swim. She come me.<\/i><\/p>\n
I hunger. <\/i><\/p>\n
I see her. At high. She unplug. Why Linn-see? Gill swim and swim. I swim and swim. But black hole pull.<\/i><\/p>\n
H. L. NELSON<\/b> is head of Cease, Cows<\/i> literary magazine and Associate Editor of Qu<\/i> literary journal. Her publication credits include Writer\u2019s Digest,<\/i> PANK, Hobart, Connotation Press, Metazen, Bartleby Snopes<\/i>, Thrice Fiction,<\/i> etc. Her poem \u201cAbsolution\u201d was nominated for the 2013<\/i> Best of the Net.<\/i> She is editing an anthology, which includes stories by Aimee Bender, Roxane Gay, Lindsay Hunter, and other exceptional women writers. Her web site is hlnelson.com.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
h. l. nelson When the slits open on my neck, at first it doesn\u2019t feel any different than taking a normal breath, like I\u2019ve been breathing this way my whole life. I\u2019m standing in my bathroom after a shower, inhaling … Continue reading