What the Sea Took from Her
Fiction by Kate Griffin
Adrianna thinks of people as ships, they pass by often enough, but only a few stay to settle in. Those are the ones that hook their anchors into her, pull her apart when they leave, bringing up all the old silt with them. They make her want to swear off rain, ban the sea, live landlocked. When this happens she tries to wash them off, get rid of anything that smells like warm ocean or fresh lake, but she bleaches the home so much it smells like a swimming pool and she can't help but think of them when the smell hits her from the kitchen floor. She goes through everyone she’s ever loved and almost drowns thinking of all the things the sea took from her.
The first was James. He was so tall Adrianna had to crane her neck to look at him. She remembers his hands, wide and coarse with hard calluses across the palms, she measured them against her own, felt child sized in comparison. James looked in all ways like home, disguised himself as home, but he was only a visitor. He played friends for three months until she trusted him and decided she was ready. James saw virginity as a challenge, making his mark on someone. She knew that, but wanted him anyway.
She stood nervous near the bed, part of her wishing the room was darker, that the walls weren’t so paper thin. He wasn’t gentle, because he didn’t know how to be; she didn’t say anything, because she thought her first time was meant to hurt. She expected to bleed through the sheets, but she didn’t. Only when she used the toilet roll did she see three light red dots. He thought she’d lied, so acted distant, like he was somewhere her head couldn’t lay on his chest.
“I like you, do you like me?” she asked him, almost too earnestly to sound real. He got quiet, stroked her hair. She knew that meant no.
In the next few weeks she felt James evaporate silently from rapid water into white mist she couldn’t see through.
Then she met Faze. Faze kissed badly, sucked both her lips together like he was trying to draw something out of them. Adrianna felt bad for anyone who had been kissed that way and pretended to like it. He would walk his fingers over her left thigh, take in her body, then tell her how she should be something else.
“You should look more like Kylie Jenner,” he said.
“What?” she snapped in a way that came out as fuck you.
“It’s just she has this smooth skin, it’s like silky - yeah, that’s the word. I’d like for you
to have skin like that.”
She looked straight ahead, caught a glimpse of them in the narrow mirror in front of his bed. If it was a movie and you couldn’t hear the sound they’d seem happy draped over each other.
He looked thoughtful, smoothing his thumb over her skin as if assessing silkiness. Girlness. Womanness. Good enoughness. Whatever he was looking for.
“Still, it’d be nice,” he said, ignoring the impossible.
She looked down at her legs, they were close enough to porcelain white, the points of black hairs threatening to push through on the calves. He hated those. Not exactly silky, but not rough either. Faze called them ugly. The word hit Adrianna like a tidal wave.
Her purple dress lay ruffled on his desk chair. She wore it because he liked the colour, it was dark plum, made up of thick lace flowers that connected to each other. To her it felt like a church dress, reached the neck, then fell after the knee. She felt like one of those devout Christain women wearing it, not like herself, but it was the only thing he praised her for.
She’d focus on his smile and angular beard. They’d have sex and it would always be quick and followed by an immediate shower. She’d wash him off her with Lynx and smell like another man for the rest of the night.
Adrianna didn’t curse or cry when she found out he was with another girl, she didn’t beg Faze to stay like she thought she would. She let the water take him, watched him rush downstream into the current of another, hoping he’d emerge cleaner, better.
Estelle was almost the one. Her hair was a shade somewhere between brown and auburn, an infinite amount of winding curls. Each one had its peak, folded into the others the way waves do. Adrianna imagined how they would feel spilling out of the gaps between her fingers. Estelle looked over her shoulder at Adrianna. They held there for a second, long enough to really see each other. Estelle’s dark eyes, high cheekbones, red lipstick. She smiled. The look said they weren't finished yet. They met later in a club where a kiss in neon lights meant everything. Estelle mentioned a boyfriend, then the pair forgot about him for the next three years.
They argued often, lived in rough waters, prone to rising storms that would return everything in them wrecked. Both held on for the moments when the love was so good it was the best either ever had.
They ended big - smashed porcelain bowls across the floor, both of their insecurities laid bare. Estelle stayed in the house like a flood for months, seeped in and rose until the memory of her reached Adrianna’s nose, made her breath in bubbles, become water bound.
Noah was the one. Like his namesake Adrianna thought he was capable of parting the Red Sea, then stitching it back together again. He was barrel-chested, had a scar on his hip, crooked and pink, against what she called sunshine skin, golden. She thought of him as holy, only the godly could be his kind of good. They became part of each other, dragged in by endless whirlpools, spinning into the other, time and time again. They wore the same smile, asked the same high pitched questions, smelt like salt, grit, sea air, everything they were both made of.
After five years they had a daughter. Adrianna was pleased she looked like him, with deep black eyes and hair. They were bonded through her, ever connected. They survived off each other's water, stayed rooted, anchored down. They lived happily for years like that. Then Adrianna wanted more, missed excitement, new loves, first kisses, nerves on a coffee date, freedom. The water rose to high tides and slowly her love for Noah started to spill out.
When Adrianna left her family the water abandoned her. Left her scorched lands, years of drought. She tried to catch rain in cupped palms, but it was never enough to bring the ocean back. She could see them both, her husband and daughter, unreachable, stranded below the horizon. The guilt of them leaving kicked at her belly, until she retched up pools on the sidewalk. Just enough water to remember how the rope cut her hands when she couldn't pull their ship back into the bay.
The first was James. He was so tall Adrianna had to crane her neck to look at him. She remembers his hands, wide and coarse with hard calluses across the palms, she measured them against her own, felt child sized in comparison. James looked in all ways like home, disguised himself as home, but he was only a visitor. He played friends for three months until she trusted him and decided she was ready. James saw virginity as a challenge, making his mark on someone. She knew that, but wanted him anyway.
She stood nervous near the bed, part of her wishing the room was darker, that the walls weren’t so paper thin. He wasn’t gentle, because he didn’t know how to be; she didn’t say anything, because she thought her first time was meant to hurt. She expected to bleed through the sheets, but she didn’t. Only when she used the toilet roll did she see three light red dots. He thought she’d lied, so acted distant, like he was somewhere her head couldn’t lay on his chest.
“I like you, do you like me?” she asked him, almost too earnestly to sound real. He got quiet, stroked her hair. She knew that meant no.
In the next few weeks she felt James evaporate silently from rapid water into white mist she couldn’t see through.
Then she met Faze. Faze kissed badly, sucked both her lips together like he was trying to draw something out of them. Adrianna felt bad for anyone who had been kissed that way and pretended to like it. He would walk his fingers over her left thigh, take in her body, then tell her how she should be something else.
“You should look more like Kylie Jenner,” he said.
“What?” she snapped in a way that came out as fuck you.
“It’s just she has this smooth skin, it’s like silky - yeah, that’s the word. I’d like for you
to have skin like that.”
She looked straight ahead, caught a glimpse of them in the narrow mirror in front of his bed. If it was a movie and you couldn’t hear the sound they’d seem happy draped over each other.
He looked thoughtful, smoothing his thumb over her skin as if assessing silkiness. Girlness. Womanness. Good enoughness. Whatever he was looking for.
“Still, it’d be nice,” he said, ignoring the impossible.
She looked down at her legs, they were close enough to porcelain white, the points of black hairs threatening to push through on the calves. He hated those. Not exactly silky, but not rough either. Faze called them ugly. The word hit Adrianna like a tidal wave.
Her purple dress lay ruffled on his desk chair. She wore it because he liked the colour, it was dark plum, made up of thick lace flowers that connected to each other. To her it felt like a church dress, reached the neck, then fell after the knee. She felt like one of those devout Christain women wearing it, not like herself, but it was the only thing he praised her for.
She’d focus on his smile and angular beard. They’d have sex and it would always be quick and followed by an immediate shower. She’d wash him off her with Lynx and smell like another man for the rest of the night.
Adrianna didn’t curse or cry when she found out he was with another girl, she didn’t beg Faze to stay like she thought she would. She let the water take him, watched him rush downstream into the current of another, hoping he’d emerge cleaner, better.
Estelle was almost the one. Her hair was a shade somewhere between brown and auburn, an infinite amount of winding curls. Each one had its peak, folded into the others the way waves do. Adrianna imagined how they would feel spilling out of the gaps between her fingers. Estelle looked over her shoulder at Adrianna. They held there for a second, long enough to really see each other. Estelle’s dark eyes, high cheekbones, red lipstick. She smiled. The look said they weren't finished yet. They met later in a club where a kiss in neon lights meant everything. Estelle mentioned a boyfriend, then the pair forgot about him for the next three years.
They argued often, lived in rough waters, prone to rising storms that would return everything in them wrecked. Both held on for the moments when the love was so good it was the best either ever had.
They ended big - smashed porcelain bowls across the floor, both of their insecurities laid bare. Estelle stayed in the house like a flood for months, seeped in and rose until the memory of her reached Adrianna’s nose, made her breath in bubbles, become water bound.
Noah was the one. Like his namesake Adrianna thought he was capable of parting the Red Sea, then stitching it back together again. He was barrel-chested, had a scar on his hip, crooked and pink, against what she called sunshine skin, golden. She thought of him as holy, only the godly could be his kind of good. They became part of each other, dragged in by endless whirlpools, spinning into the other, time and time again. They wore the same smile, asked the same high pitched questions, smelt like salt, grit, sea air, everything they were both made of.
After five years they had a daughter. Adrianna was pleased she looked like him, with deep black eyes and hair. They were bonded through her, ever connected. They survived off each other's water, stayed rooted, anchored down. They lived happily for years like that. Then Adrianna wanted more, missed excitement, new loves, first kisses, nerves on a coffee date, freedom. The water rose to high tides and slowly her love for Noah started to spill out.
When Adrianna left her family the water abandoned her. Left her scorched lands, years of drought. She tried to catch rain in cupped palms, but it was never enough to bring the ocean back. She could see them both, her husband and daughter, unreachable, stranded below the horizon. The guilt of them leaving kicked at her belly, until she retched up pools on the sidewalk. Just enough water to remember how the rope cut her hands when she couldn't pull their ship back into the bay.
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