Skeletons Amongst Dark Waters
"Maya?"
She hears the thud of footsteps as her father approaches. She only hums in response, her focus on the book in front of her.
“I’m fine, dad,” Maya sighs, “Just because I don’t want to say things doesn't mean I can’t.”
“You know it scares me when you do that. You could have another episode any time, Mae.”
“I know. But it doesn't matter if I do, Dad. I’ll be better soon, that’s why we’re here.”
Her father’s lips press together into a pale white line. He breathes out an angry huff through his nose. He doesn’t trust the Sirens. Not their singing, not their magic, not their healing. But Maya does. She can already feel it. The air thrums with something other, and it sounds suspiciously like music. When she closes her eyes, she can feel it settle in her chest, calling her to the ocean, to the Sirens, to heath, hopefully. The only reason she jasn’t succombed to its call is because of her father’s worry of an attack of the muscle spasms, and of her steadily weakening limbs.
“Why did you come here,” she asks. He was obviously here for a reason. He would leave her alone otherwise.
Her father relaxes slightly and says, “We’re going to the beach.” Maya perks up, “What? Really?” A grin spreads across her face. She’s been here for almost a month and hasn’t even seen the beach. The Thing in her chest stretches, warming her core and tugging at her slightly.
“There’s a meeting down by the shore for people who want to help for the festival," he pauses, "I’ve heard that there may even be some Sirens there.” Maya can tell he said the last part for her benefit. As he spoke, his slight smile had gotten slighter and his tone became darker. Maya didn’t really care. There would be Sirens. She began to smile and stand up when her father held out a hand, saying, "Woah, woah, woah, woah, let me get your wheelchair." A frown resettled onto her face as she dropped back into her chair. There's no arguing with him. Not about this. She's learned about that over the course of these past few weeks. He'd probably insist on pushing her all the way down to the shore, too.
When her father returned with the wheelchair, she settled into it with an angry slouch. The worst part of this was that she probably needed the wheelchair by now. She had had issues crossing her room to get to her desk when she got up this morning.
But her father doesn't need to know that.
---
It took them 15 minutes to get to the shore.
By the time they got there, Maya was positively itching to get out of her chair and touch the sand and the sea and dive and swim and see the fish and hear the songs of the Sirens and go swim all the way home to New York because that's what the ocean can do, right, She heals you if you just let Her and--
She was shaken out of her odd reverie by her father tapping her shoulder.
"I'll be right over there," he says, in the tone he used when she was 5 and he had to talk to her kindergarten teacher about the fact that "Maya isn't settling well in this class" and it makes her feel small again and like she's 5 and like she can't be trusted not to panic if she can't see her father for 30 seconds.
She hates that voice.
She watches him walk away, and, for a second, the man her father is walking towards looks like her kindergarten teacher.
She stands.
As her feet touch the sand, Maya releases a sigh that is almost closer to a moan.
She had missed the beach. She missed Jones Beach back home. It was a little while away from Queens, but it was worth it. The waves were high and mellow and the air tasted like fish and sun tan lotion and it was perfect.
For a moment, standing in the sand on an island about as far from home as she'd ever been, Maya closed her eyes and pretended she was there.
On that shore.
With those people.
The kind that used sun tan lotion and played too-loud music and played football in the waves of Jones Beach, not Siren's Beach. But the tug in her chest whispered, you're not there. You're here. We're here. Come to us and it tugged hard and Maya was back on Siren's beach, with her feet in too-white sand. Her chest Thing tugged again and she took a shaky step forward.
"C'mon," she muttered, "you can do this."
Another step.
And another.
And another.
One after another until she heard voices of children to her left and she took her eyes off of her feet and turned until she saw children gathered around--
Her breath caught in her chest.
They were beautiful.
The Siren lay with their tail draped just into the water, their chest propped up by their elbows.They were paler than anyone Maya had ever seen, but there was an odd blue tint to the Siren's skin. Their white-blonde hair was dry, showing just how long they had been speaking to these children, and it shone slightly blue in the sunlight.
Maya just stared.
After a moment her feet started to carry themselves forward, following a particularly forceful tug from her Chest Thing. She walked with hardly any difficulty all the way over the the crowd of children. Maya seated herself near the back, easing herself down into a seated position as carefully as she could.
Not a single child turned around.
The Siren's voice was surprisingly high pitched, but was melodic in speech patterns. Maya could listen to their voice for hours.
Days.
Years.
Forever.
As she stared, she saw the Siren's eyes float up.
And then their eyes met.