A
s she stands in the ocean, ankle deep, she imagines she is one of the pirates from Uncle Mikey’s stories. She wonders how brave they had to be to transverse the oceans. What sort of things did they see? She conjures up images of sails over the horizon as they stumble upon waves large that the buildings on the citadel. She pictures them stumbling upon islands made of more than just sand and dirt and trees and shrubs. Maybe they discovered an island of the sweetest fruit. Or did they find there, out in the ocean a cave whose walls were made of their deepest fears. What did they find out there? She tries to reach out there, across the ocean, tries to reach it in her dreams, but it always comes up short, like the edge of the map. She topples over into wakefulness. It is only when she feels a splash of water along her face that she returns to where she is, Jack chatters angrily on her shoulders at the water being splashed his way. Standing in the shallow waters of Night Court watching the grey woman wade into the water. Did they see kelpies? Did they befriend them as her mother did, or did they fear them, try to break them, try to love them. She pictures boats speeding away, pictures nets thrown over them, pictures hearts being cast overboard.
The summer sun feels like fire along her spine. This is summer: hot and blazing. But her legs feel cool as she stands in the water, looking to Anandi with wide, expectant blue eyes. “Aunt Andi, are you sure I need to learn how to swim?” She asks the kelpie woman. She should be terrified, maybe, probably, and maybe if Elli were anyone else, maybe, probably she would be. Jack clings to her shoulders fiercely, chattering his disapproval and his regret of coming along to this swimming lesson. “I can just watch you instead,” she says, staring out at the horizon. Jack clutches her blonde mane tightly in her hands. She wades out a little further, cautiously. She decides, if this is what summer brings—maybe she doesn't like it very much.
some are ghosts before they are dead.
