Beached 

By Olivia Chao

You’re standing on the concrete plateau that lies next to the number one beach on the Oregon Coast. Though, you can’t quite remember the name of said beach because, at the time, you were only so young and now, you’re all grown up. Memories long forgotten have begun to surface in your mind because—scratch your face. Remember why you’re here in the first place—a beach trip with your uncle and cousin. The sun is setting and you can see the dip just where the waves meet the rays. Imagine placing yourself there, nestled between a warm and cool embrace. Your uncle is talking about your mother like she’s here. Something about how sad your grandfather is. How your mother never visits, never calls. You don’t know it yet but years into the future, right before you enter puberty, you’ll see your mother cry for the first time in your life. She’ll tell you how awful your grandfather was to her, how he didn’t support the marriage.

You didn’t notice you were barefoot. Scratch your legs. Stare off in the distance, right on the line where the sea meets the shore. Think on it. Imagine shedding your clothes. Your skin. Consider entering the water, letting the sea take you, naked as the day you were born.

“It just feels like she doesn’t love us,” your uncle says with tears in his eyes.

Scan the beach. See a grey mass further down the coast, so far that it’s barely a dot in your vision, but it’s there. Put back on your skin, your clothes, walk down the stairs of the plateau. Let your soles sink in the sand. Your uncle and cousin don’t notice you’ve disappeared. Continue walking. Surely, they wouldn’t mind you staying on the sand for just a bit longer. Walk more, farther than when you started and consider giving up on this venture. Think about abandoning your skin again. Can’t. The gray dot begins to take shape, fins, a tail, eyes. Something more than base curiosity spurs you on. Run. Trip. Stumble. Eat a face full of sand. Don’t let it stop you till you reach what you’ve been looking for. Take no time to consider that, however, because you’ve reached your destination.

A dead sperm whale lies beached on the sand.

Well. Not dead yet.

She’s still breathing. With every breath she takes, the sand vibrates. Scars cover her from head to tail. Some old, some new.

The sand stops moving. Due to bacteria after death, gas forms. Her body swells. A concoction of carbon dioxide, methane, and ammonia forces the fetus out.

Her dead body births a Calf, covered in only Its own amniotic fluid for comfort. The umbilical cord pulses, the mother has left the Calf without milk. Her body deflates in Its absence.

Stand over the Baby’s body. Touch Its skin, find your fingers coated in pieces of placenta. You’re done.

Walk past the Baby and let your feet touch the water. Almost walk knee deep before doubling back, head snapping to where the Baby lays. It’s dead. In one last rattle, the Baby cries.

Remember your childhood. No, not this childhood. Further back. When you first started sleeping alone, without your parents and in a different room. Remember the events of those mornings. You’d stand in your new room, with orange walls this time, by the window and peered through the blinds—the best you could, given how short you were—and stared at the neighborhood kids playing in the driveway. One’s riding a skateboard with another pushing him, and everyone is laughing. Ask your mother if you can join.

“They’re hooligans,” she said, every baleen on display. “What if you get hurt while you’re out there?”

Slink back to your room to watch. The sun sets. Get scared of the dark. Find your parents and ask if you can sleep with them. Know that they’ll say no, it’s routine, go down the stairs to their room anyway. Carefully open the red door. Shuffle to your mother’s side of the bed. Listen to each creak of the floorboards. Stand over her body. Watch. Wait. You don’t know for what. Listen to the sound of her breathing. Find that you’ve been waiting for nothing.

About the Author...

Olivia Chao is a young writer and artist from Florida. She attends Douglas Anderson School of the Arts with a major in Creative Writing. Her artwork has previously been featured at the Jacksonville Public Library, and her writing has also previously been featured in Élan. 

About the Artist...

Brooke Coulter is a junior Visual Artist at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts. Her chosen mediums are acrylic painting and block printing.