flipit
09-02-2008, 10:08 AM
EPILOGUE
Late March is a nice time to visit southern California. The days aren’t too hot, but there’s still plenty of sun. It was the middle of the week, so the Long Beach Aquarium was still pretty empty. Stryder and I were wandering around the jellyfish display.
“You know, they don’t have brains, or skeletons or any organs like you and I have,” Stryder told me obviously enthralled. He tore his eyes away from the giant jellyfish floating past us and asked in a worried voice, “Are you sure that this is where your mother wanted to meet us?”
I sighed and nodded. “She comes here for lunch every Thursday.”
His gaze moved to a point beyond me and he asked in a fascinated voice, “Is she kind of big and wears a turban?”
I turned to see my mother sailing across the floor toward us. She was wearing a bright flowered caftan, a purple turban, and Birkenstock sandals. Her nails were long and freshly painted, and she carried a large wicker bag with a conspicuous bulge in the center. “Maria, we are late,” she announced as she approached.
“No, Mom,” I told her. “You are late.”
“I got a late start,” she admitted.
Stryder was shuffling awkwardly beside me. “Mom, this is Stryder,” I said giving her a warning look.
“Mrs. Gutierrez,” he said hesitantly. “I’m really glad to meet you. I brought you some flowers.” He held out a brightly colored bouquet and looked beseechingly at her with an expression that fell somewhere between hopeful and panicked.
My mother took the flowers and smiled. “They are very pretty,” she said approvingly. “Now, come. Myrtle is waiting.” She turned and started walking toward the top of the aquarium.
“I bet you mother doesn’t look like mine,” I said as we followed behind her.
Stryder grinned. “Not even like they were from the same planet,” he admitted. “Who’s Myrtle?”
I sighed. “Myrtle is a giant sea turtle. My mother comes every Thursday to feed her lunch.”
The Long Beach Aquarium spirals around an enormous center tank that stands several stories high and is home to hundreds of different sea creatures. As we walked up the ramp, Myrtle swam along with us.
“Isn’t she kind of big for a sea turtle?” Stryder asked.
I nodded. “Most sea turtles get to be about 300 lbs., Myrtle is 600 lbs.. Myrtle and my mother are soul mates.”
Stryder looked from Myrtle swimming slowly alongside us to my mother moving slowly up the ramp. “There is a certain resemblance,” he admitted.
Mark, the regular attendant, was waiting for us at the top of the ramp. He greeted my mother fondly, adding, “You’re running late today. Myrtle was getting worried.” He opened a gate for her to step out onto a little platform that held an empty chair.
“My daughter is visiting,” my mother said regally and sat down, fishing a giant head of lettuce out of her purse for Myrtle.
“What now?” Stryder asked.
“Now,” I told him. “We watch the fish and wait.”
Stryder shrugged and started obediently walking around the tank staring down into the water. My mother broke a piece off lettuce off and leaning precariously forward dropped it into Myrtle’s open mouth, “You know, Maria,” she said over her shoulder. “The fish in this tank are a lot like people.”
I shrugged. I could accept that.
“Some people are like the sharks,” she continued. “The sharks are always hungry. For them to live safely with the other fish, they must be fed every morning so there won’t be any accidents.” She paused and shook her head sadly. “Even then, sometimes at night when no one is here to see, there will be an accident and the next day a fish will be missing. Sylvester, he is like a shark.”
Stryder was across the tank from us, squatting down next to Mark, with his face smashed against the glass as he peered into the tank. “Is Stryder like a shark?” I asked.
My mother gave Myrtle another piece of lettuce. “No, Stryder is like a dolphin.”
I frowned. I couldn’t help thinking that sharks were cooler than dolphins.
“You and I,” my mother said, “we are like Myrtle. But,” her tone grew severe, “you are like a turtle who wants to be a shark.”
I thought about this as Stryder walked back to me. “Maria, Mark says he’ll take us out to swim with the fish, if we want,” he said excitedly.
I smiled back at him. I couldn’t picture Sylvester wanting to swim with the fish. For a second, I had a fleeting wave of sympathy for Michael.
Late March is a nice time to visit southern California. The days aren’t too hot, but there’s still plenty of sun. It was the middle of the week, so the Long Beach Aquarium was still pretty empty. Stryder and I were wandering around the jellyfish display.
“You know, they don’t have brains, or skeletons or any organs like you and I have,” Stryder told me obviously enthralled. He tore his eyes away from the giant jellyfish floating past us and asked in a worried voice, “Are you sure that this is where your mother wanted to meet us?”
I sighed and nodded. “She comes here for lunch every Thursday.”
His gaze moved to a point beyond me and he asked in a fascinated voice, “Is she kind of big and wears a turban?”
I turned to see my mother sailing across the floor toward us. She was wearing a bright flowered caftan, a purple turban, and Birkenstock sandals. Her nails were long and freshly painted, and she carried a large wicker bag with a conspicuous bulge in the center. “Maria, we are late,” she announced as she approached.
“No, Mom,” I told her. “You are late.”
“I got a late start,” she admitted.
Stryder was shuffling awkwardly beside me. “Mom, this is Stryder,” I said giving her a warning look.
“Mrs. Gutierrez,” he said hesitantly. “I’m really glad to meet you. I brought you some flowers.” He held out a brightly colored bouquet and looked beseechingly at her with an expression that fell somewhere between hopeful and panicked.
My mother took the flowers and smiled. “They are very pretty,” she said approvingly. “Now, come. Myrtle is waiting.” She turned and started walking toward the top of the aquarium.
“I bet you mother doesn’t look like mine,” I said as we followed behind her.
Stryder grinned. “Not even like they were from the same planet,” he admitted. “Who’s Myrtle?”
I sighed. “Myrtle is a giant sea turtle. My mother comes every Thursday to feed her lunch.”
The Long Beach Aquarium spirals around an enormous center tank that stands several stories high and is home to hundreds of different sea creatures. As we walked up the ramp, Myrtle swam along with us.
“Isn’t she kind of big for a sea turtle?” Stryder asked.
I nodded. “Most sea turtles get to be about 300 lbs., Myrtle is 600 lbs.. Myrtle and my mother are soul mates.”
Stryder looked from Myrtle swimming slowly alongside us to my mother moving slowly up the ramp. “There is a certain resemblance,” he admitted.
Mark, the regular attendant, was waiting for us at the top of the ramp. He greeted my mother fondly, adding, “You’re running late today. Myrtle was getting worried.” He opened a gate for her to step out onto a little platform that held an empty chair.
“My daughter is visiting,” my mother said regally and sat down, fishing a giant head of lettuce out of her purse for Myrtle.
“What now?” Stryder asked.
“Now,” I told him. “We watch the fish and wait.”
Stryder shrugged and started obediently walking around the tank staring down into the water. My mother broke a piece off lettuce off and leaning precariously forward dropped it into Myrtle’s open mouth, “You know, Maria,” she said over her shoulder. “The fish in this tank are a lot like people.”
I shrugged. I could accept that.
“Some people are like the sharks,” she continued. “The sharks are always hungry. For them to live safely with the other fish, they must be fed every morning so there won’t be any accidents.” She paused and shook her head sadly. “Even then, sometimes at night when no one is here to see, there will be an accident and the next day a fish will be missing. Sylvester, he is like a shark.”
Stryder was across the tank from us, squatting down next to Mark, with his face smashed against the glass as he peered into the tank. “Is Stryder like a shark?” I asked.
My mother gave Myrtle another piece of lettuce. “No, Stryder is like a dolphin.”
I frowned. I couldn’t help thinking that sharks were cooler than dolphins.
“You and I,” my mother said, “we are like Myrtle. But,” her tone grew severe, “you are like a turtle who wants to be a shark.”
I thought about this as Stryder walked back to me. “Maria, Mark says he’ll take us out to swim with the fish, if we want,” he said excitedly.
I smiled back at him. I couldn’t picture Sylvester wanting to swim with the fish. For a second, I had a fleeting wave of sympathy for Michael.