Even though it's been like, two months or more since I wrote this, here is the second story I wrote in fiction writing.
A Change of Dress
Although she had never seen the ocean, Emily knew that it would be violent and beautiful and very possibly the most awe-inspiring thing she had ever seen. If she was honest with herself, she hadn’t really seen much of anything—the mountains, the countryside, or any true city—only the small town she had grown up in and what lay on the skirts of that town, but she had never slipped off the dress entirely.
When her mother had suggested that they drive to the ocean, Emily had felt an irresistible tug towards the unknown, and she had run upstairs to pack her bags with a swimsuit and—what else? She didn’t know anything about the ocean or the beach, she didn’t know what she would need there. She glanced around her room, but there was nothing that particularly called out to her as belonging on the beach or to the water. She realized that she did not have any idea where the ocean even was in relation to her town—how far they were, how long it might take to get there, whether or not she should bring a book for the car ride.
Deciding to take only a notebook and a pencil, as well as her swimsuit and a towel, Emily raced back down the stairs.
“Emily, dear, are you ready? How do you feel?” Her mother was still standing at the kitchen counter, slowly dicing vegetables, and Emily had a sudden wish for her to be like the professional chefs on the Food Network, if only so that she could dice through the vegetables with lightning speed and get into the car.
“Yeah, so are we going?” Emily noted that her voice sounded like the impatient whine of a much younger person, and so she counted to nine, her favorite number, and took three deep breaths, three being the square root of nine. After all, square roots were so rare, and Emily took every opportunity to use them as they should be used and appreciated by all people.
“I thought we could leave after lunch.”
“I thought we could leave now.”
“Emily, patience. We’ll only get hungry half way through.” Her mother was reasonable, and Emily was passionate. She could feel the claustrophobia of sixteen years in the same place building up from her stomach into the spot in her chest that was just below her throat and made her want to gag. She was surprised at herself for having such a violent reaction. It wasn’t as if she had never been for a drive before, but this idea of seeing the ocean had taken hold of her, and she was determined to go today, or to go never.
The phone rang. Emily’s mother spoke to somebody in rushed tones, and then hung up almost immediately.
“Emily, the doct—the man from the beach just called. They’re ready for you now.”
After eating lunch—her mother had made stew, and every spoon felt difficult to swallow, the bowl never-ending—Emily and her mother finally got into the car.
* * *
When Emily reached the beach, it was the peak of the afternoon, when the day had reached its hottest and the sun had begun to retract the intensity of its rays. There was a general mass of people spread out evenly over the sand. Emily found it disturbing that no individual face registered to her, there was only a low murmur of sound that settled over the entire beach, and the streaks of beach balls that caught her eye like shooting stars, in perfect little circles with areas of pi-r-squared that completed a pretty picture.
There were many fish encased in water, and she could almost reach out and touch them but for some kind of barrier. Her mother sat down in a chair, and began to read a magazine. Emily stared at the seashells arranged decoratively on the blue walls, and thought to herself that she had never seen anything but clouds in the sky before. The beach was an entirely different world, the alien feeling of the carpet under her feet when she pulled off her shoes. Was this what sand felt like?
“Emily, dear, please put your shoes back on. This isn’t our house anymore.” Emily wanted to cry; she liked wiggling her toes around the plush of the sand, but she pulled the sandals back around her feet and sat down on the floor. She looked back up at the fish, and began tapping on the barrier between her and the fish. A man emerged from what seemed to be the depths of—the ocean? Probably. He called out her name, and she stood up suddenly, giving her a dizzy feeling, as if she had been hit by a wave.
Emily braced herself and looked back at her mother, who stood up and held her hand, guiding her towards the dark doorway. They walked into the ocean together, like Emily had not thought possible. In another room, she was still somehow breathing, sitting in a chair across from this man. He gazed at her and she wondered if he was a mermaid, but his legs seemed firmly attached to his body. She moved her arms experimentally, attempting to swim, but the man gently took her hands and lowered them.
“Emily, how are you feeling today?” She wondered why everyone kept asking her that.
“Good.”
“Do you know where you are right now?”
“The beach.” He looked at her sympathetically, but said nothing. Then he began to speak in low murmurs to her mother. She could not distinguish what was being said. She looked around the walls, which were painted blue. She suddenly felt overwhelmed; the ground beneath her feet pulled away from her, and she slipped into the water, choking and grasping at the carpet that slid between her fingers.
Moments later she found herself back on the chair, her mother’s hand back in hers. She was coughing and gasping and she didn’t feel anything anymore, as if she were truly in the water, but she felt another rush, this time of understanding. She was not at the beach, she was only in yet another office of yet another doctor who would talk to her as if she was an infant. She wanted to scream that there was nothing wrong with her, but her mother’s face looked disappointed and Emily bit her tongue and her hopes along with it, and let go of the string attaching her to the beach.
