It was a beautiful day to go to the beach. The sun was high and the water shone a shining cerulean. You tramped across the sand, feeling underused muscles complain with each step. Thereâs a vague ache in your shoulders from the days spent hunched at your computer terminal. The unaccustomed brightness hurts your eyes and you stop near the tide line and sigh.
The therapist said getting outside a little each day would help. Youâve never been outdoorsy but a walk on the beach isnât that taxing. Then again it also doesnât feel helpful as youâre wiping tears away from the sun shining aggressively on the water. You look down at the tide pools youâve arrived at.
You canât deny that while itâs too bright out, and your muscles are already complaining, the smell of the salt and wind is appealing. A small corner of your heart tilts up in a way youâve almost forgotten. You squat down to look at the pools, feeling just for a moment like a kid again.
Anemones, starfish, and barnacles abound. You watch patiently to see if anything more secretive will move. After a few minutes your patience is rewarded- what appeared to be a rock scuttles. Your heart turns over. Itâs some kind of crab, you know. But you feel like youâve never felt about a crab before. An immense tenderness and love roars through you. Without thinking you reach down into the cool water and the crab steps lightly into your palm.
You lift it up for closer inspection and the crab regards you with tiny beady crab eyes full of the same love. You sit back on the sand, full of both love and a sad kind of resignation.
You found your soulmate. But your soulmate is a crab.
You pull out your phone with a sigh and begin researching saltwater tanks.
It takes about a week to get the tank set up. Itâs technically illegal to take wildlife from the beach to keep but no one could deny that the crab doesnât with your leave your company. You visit every day, and it waits in the pool at low tides. Finally, your tank at home is ideal. The water salinity is correct with plants, rocks, and little creatures for your soulmate to eat. Your soulmate loves their new tank when you sneak them home. They scuttle around touching their new rocks possessively.
When you get home from work at night the crab is waiting, tiny claws pressed to the glass. You tell it about your day and stroke itâs shell. In the mornings it does little crab dances begging you to stay home with it. On the weekends you take it down to low tide, even at night, and it scrambles happily across the rocks and through the pools. But it always returns to your hand when you call.
You arenât sure what name would be appropriate so you call it, âmy love.â It seems able to hear you and gently grips your hand with its pincers when you whisper good night to it. You didnât think you would be but⌠youâre happy. You find that the crab understands you. You feel comforted and loved in its presence. You donât miss the company of other people, though you occasionally still go to work outings and friends birthdays. You usually spend the evening looking forward to the warm glow of your crabs tank.
Youâre happy for a long time. But your crab starts to slow down. Itâs claws grasp more feebly when it holds your hand. You google how long crabs live, and try not to be dismayed. Itâs been something like two years already. Three to five years. Just three to five years together. How old was your love when you found them on the beach? And now itâs been two years already.
You rush home most nights now. You donât go out with friends or coworkers. You sit by the tank and smell the delicate salt smell and hold your love gently in your hand. You caress their shell and their pincers wave feebly in enjoyment.
One morning they arenât moving. You walk with dread to their tank but they appear still. You reach down and cradle them gently, lifting them to your face. Their pincers twitch softly, theyâre still holding on. You whisper, âItâs okay, my love. You can let go. I love you. I hope I see you again. But if I donât you will always have my heart.â
You kiss their little shell and they donât move again.
You call out of work. You canât stop crying, and youâre not sure what to do with their precious little body. Everything feels wrong. You canât publicly mourn a crab. No one will come cry with you at a graveside for a crustacean.
Helpless and sad, you decide you have to go for a walk. Youâve gotten used to going out each day, especially on weekends, and your legs donât complain. What happened next wasnât your fault. You werenât paying attention but you shouldnât have had to be. Even if you had been, it would have only upset you to see the car bearing down on you as you were midway through a crosswalk. You couldnât have gotten out of the way.
Your eyes opened, blurry and new to see the beaked faces of your parents, graceful white necks curling protectively up into the sky. You pushed yourself feebly out of your shell and lay panting in a nest made of water reeds and grasses.
Thatâs how you were born.
Being a swan was a nice life. Your parents were diligently protective. Some of your siblings didnât make it to fledging but most did. Once you fledged being a swan was even nicer. Flying in formation behind your parents, feeling the simple mathematics of air currents, trajectories, and trigonometry flow over you as simply as breathing.
On your first migration you came to a place full of other swans. The feeling of safety and community cupped you and you browsed freely for food. You are one among the many.
Then in the crowd of flashing white feathers and long necks- you saw them. The most elegant and beautiful swan youâd ever seen. Your heart swelled with love both strange and familiar. You began to dance for them and they returned your calls and gestures at once, reaching out their sinuous neck to caress you.
You found your soulmate. Again.
