Hurricaneland

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I often watched when hurricanes would batter the coast. The clouds, threatening in color and sound. How the water rose and the waves swallowed the sea wall. I was watching a category three unfurl from my childhood home when I spotted a thin figure with a faint glimmer crawling in across the sand. Rain lashed her as she paused to look out at the water, at the winds spiriting shingles across the bay. Strips of wet hair covered her chest, and scales twinkled where legs should have been. Her eyes glowed through the darkness, as powerful as high beams. She watched peacefully, as if, amidst the mayhem, her presence had been a good omen, then she slipped back into the sea. 

The following morning, I traced the shore’s edge looking for her. The beach zig-zagged for a long stretch before the mangroves took over. I walked the length again and again. There was damage to take in, the palm fronds that flecked the boardwalk, the mosquito netting that hung from telephone lines, but I cared only to find her. 

Trash washed to shore, and the hours ran by, and when the sun began to sink and there was still no sign of her, I hobbled back home in defeat. 

A few years passed before I would see her again. I was driving myself to Clear Waters when the radio announced that the first hurricane of the season was approaching. Positioned to make landfall by the end of the week, most likely just a two. I was stuck in traffic on the bridge when I thought I heard someone in a neighboring car say the word “mermaid.”

•

When I told the story at group that night, no one found it strange. I said, Did you miss the part about the mermaid? Everyone’s faces were so bored, some dead asleep. My high school music teacher Barge was there, a paper cup of burnt coffee pinned to his bottom lip, eyes rimmed red. I wondered how he could afford Clear Waters on his salary. My parents were paying for my stay. They were gone half the year, devoted to their snowbird schedule, and just took my word that things were so bad I needed proper recovery. They knew all about Clear Waters, a luxury treatment center on one of the fancy islands off the coast, the beaches with white sands, the well-kept causeways, the expensive eateries overlooking the crystal water. Everything was so white it made my eyes burn. 

It’s hardly the first sighting, said Vladimir, a blond bone-thin boy no older than fifteen. Bright bangs covered half his face, and skin he picked and picked at covered the other half. He was dotted with blood. Beside him, Saul shook his head—Saul was a meth addict, and still had that meth-y energy. His arms were crossed to his chest, and he tapped his fingers, and slapped his feet, and clicked his teeth, and lolled his head, and rolled his neck, and blinked, and blinked. 

Rita the counselor spoke next. She said, That’s all fine and well. But why won’t you tell us why you’re here? She was a large pale woman with frizzy hair that reached past the small of her back until it brushed the floor, like a wig I’d seen once on a drag queen on YouTube. So big and brown it had a life of its own.

I told the group I was addicted to being addicted. Vladimir said that didn’t count, and when group was over, he aimed spitballs at me. We were in the hallway now, each of us scurrying towards our separate corners of the estate. I cleared away the spitballs stuck to my shoulder when Barge approached. He was fat and old and said, Something about hurricane season. No other season like it.

The air feels so different, I said, my eyes flitting up. 

It gives my whole life purpose. Do you know the movie Twister? I wish I could have a job like that, he said. He smelled like black liquorice, only slightly unpleasant. 

I rolled a spitball between my fingers and said, Good thing another hurricane’s coming. We’re by the water, it won’t be so different. 

Barge grinned and bared his teeth, so yellow I took a step back. If I could make love to a hurricane, I probably would, he said. 

I didn’t know what to answer. He read my face, then clucked and walked away. 

My roommate Paolo was an Italian with tattoos covering his body, some covertly fascist, some overtly. He was shaking a water bottle, the contents all green, when I returned to our room to properly unpack. I asked him what he was drinking. Kale smoothie?

He said the name of some druggie plant. Shhh, he said, our little secret. 

I thought this defeated the purpose of being at Clear Waters, but I didn’t say so. Maybe this plant was a step in the right direction, something to wean him off the black tar. Paolo knelt and from under his bed pulled out a giant bag of poppy seeds. Have you ever had this? he asked.

Do you plan on baking muffins?

I think you’re smarter than you’re letting on, Paolo said. Below his nightstand, I noticed a gallon of Miralax. I knew opiates made you constipated. I also knew you shouldn’t use Miralax long-term. When I said as much to Paolo, he shook his head. I do it every other day, he said. You got to get to know your body. Beat the system. Meet it halfway. 

I don’t understand, I said. Why are you here then?

He gestured at his collection of paraphernalia and said that this wasn’t the issue. I’m healthier than a horse, he said, when I’m on all this. 

I sank into bed. 

Everyone has their little fix, he said. Going cold turkey’ll kill you. He continued shaking his green bottle. I liked the sound and closed my eyes. But he didn’t stop, and it was hardly past seven. I had hours left in the day.

Was this what it was going to be? A boredom that would drive us to seek out the thing that had landed us here in the first place? When Paolo finally shut his eyes, I slipped out of the room and drifted down the empty halls. Downstairs I crossed through the living room with tall ceilings, past the large accordion glass doors spilling into the courtyard, where a dot burned in the corner. Saul was smoking a cigarette. He stepped forward until he was only half hidden in the shadows, his other half bathed in the living room’s gold glow. He offered me a cigarette, and the first drag was a miracle.

I wish you believed me, I said. About what I saw. 

I’m telling you, it’s mass hysteria. I know water, I was born in water. There’s nothing there, Saul said. He had a lean face with large, unblinking eyes. Full lips that sucked on his cigarette, meaty hands that gripped the balustrade.

Last time I saw her, it was also during hurricane season, I said—there to inspect the land before it got washed away, I thought. She wanted to see what our constructed world was like before it was leveled again.

Or it’s like a Mandela effect, Saul said. To a certain number of you, mermaids have always existed. He took another pull, and smoke curled upwards and caught moonlight. Wait out the hurricane with me, he said. Please. 

But I hardly know you, I said.

We’re the only two people worth getting to know here. 

I told him I wasn’t going anywhere.

•

Saul wasn’t at breakfast. A hot bar with giant pancakes and watery scrambled eggs and a vat of burnt oatmeal. Fruits all cut up into perfect cubes—cantaloupe, pineapple, watermelon. I packed a plastic bowl with oatmeal, flooded it with maple syrup, and took a seat beside Vladimir.

Do you know your roommate is practically Italian aristocracy? Vladimir asked, cocking his head, a grin curled between the pores he scratched. His father is high up in the Cosa Nostra. Some say he’s got a gun in one of his suitcases. Some say his bodyguards are hiding in the palm trees just outside.

And your parents are former KGB? I said, chomping into the fruit cubes.

No, Vladimir said, an unexpected sadness in his face. We were exiled by the administration. But no worries, my parents like Miami. They go out dancing. Come home dripping in sweat, often with a stranger they picked up along the way. Initially they were waiting for Putin to die, but now I’m not so sure they want to return. 

My parents are snowbirds, I said. 

Then you’re not one to judge. 

I stirred and ate my oatmeal. Sometimes, I said, I feel like they enjoy avoiding me. They were hardly here this past winter. Isn’t that the whole point?

You’ve been abandoned. Just like us.

I don’t think we’re anything alike.

You’ve only been here one night. Give it some time.

I emptied sugar packets into my coffee to mask the burnt taste. Everything seemed a little burnt, a little crusty, which felt significant, and not so unlike a metaphor—we were the crust to polite society, I thought. Not upper crust, but bottom crust.

Then: Clear Waters, Clear Waters, Clear Waters. There’s a douche joke somewhere in there, Vladimir said. You know, when the water runs clear? 

He laughed before returning to picking his face, the invisible sebum he thought he was springing free. Paolo slumped into the seat across from me with purple eyebags. When I told him to eat, he said I sounded like his mom. 

Does your mom know what’s under your bed? I asked. Vladimir pushed a rolled-up wad of straw wrapper into his mouth and aimed the straw at Barge, who sat alone in a corner.

It’s under your bed now, Paolo said. 

Hey, he said, don’t get so angry. You’re new, they won’t kick you out. 

Vladimir shot the spitball at Barge, who didn’t flinch. The ball stayed stuck on his neck as he continued looking at his plate. Was he zonked out on drugs too? 

I said, I don’t understand why any of you wanted to come here.

Why are you here? Vladimir asked.

I needed to make some changes, I said, and so here I am.

You're addicted to the worst drug there is, Vladimir said. 

And what’s that?

•

Since we had the rest of the morning free, I went outside and walked the coast. Gray clouds emerged from the horizon and mammoth waves chewed into the white shores. Everyone was saying the hurricane would most likely reach us come nighttime. Walking back, I found Saul stretched out on the sand. His skin and hair were golden, cheeks puckered with wrinkles. I spread my shadow out over his face, hiding the small imperfections. You weren’t at breakfast, I said.

I only eat one meal a day, he said. 

That doesn’t sound healthy.

It’s probably the healthiest thing about me. He moved his arms and legs to make an angel in the sand. He said, I know why you were out here. You were looking for your mermaid.

Maybe, I said, and I dropped down beside him. Are you one of those people who will go back to living the same old life once they’re out of here?

He propped himself up by his elbows and forearms and looked out to sea. Probably, he said. But I do try. Trust me, I want to change.

I dug my fingers into the sand, the shell shards coruscating with colors when the sun hit them at a certain angle. He started digging a hole beside me. I’m never going to give up, he said. 

I think I’m here because I’ve given up. 

He said, The way you talk about your mermaid says otherwise. If anyone is walking away from here changed, it’s you. Sweat sprouted along his hairline as he dug, a dampness now to the hair along his ears. So we probably shouldn’t fuck, he said.

No, I said. And never on sand. Haven’t you ever had a fissure?

I’m a gay meth addict. Of course I have, he said. 

The hole he’d dug was massive. Bury me, he said. Maybe it’ll feel cathartic.

•

In group, I was looking at how Rita’s hair brushed the ground when she asked how my first night had gone. I said, I feel at home here already. Vladimir picked and Paolo nodded and Barge grinned from whatever, I didn’t want to know. Then there was Saul. He still had his nervous energy but there was an openness to his face now. As though he cared about what I had to say. 

I’m glad it feels familiar, Rita said. But I hope not too familiar. 

I haven’t done anything I wouldn’t be proud of, I said.

Good, she said. Then she told us the center was hurricane-proof, and she would be spending the night, available if anyone needed anything. I’ll most likely stay in the living room, awake, she said. Just in case.

She told us we were welcome to check ourselves out, if we felt more comfortable waiting out the hurricane from home, with loved ones. She didn’t need to say anything about triggers, she knew none of us wanted to go home.

Group finished and Rita asked me to hang back. Though the curtains were yanked to the side, the room had grown dark. Together we watched the clouds roll across the choppy waters. I told her if she’d found something beneath my bed, it wasn’t mine. That’s not what this is about, she said, and she twisted her hands before telling me she’d seen the mermaid too. My whole family saw her, she said. A hurricane a few years back. We were going through a rough patch. My parents were almost fifteen thousand dollars in the hole. Everything seemed to be falling apart. And then there the mermaid was, beside the canal. Slim and glimmering. Jumped in a few seconds later. Within weeks our luck changed. She fixed us right up.

I don’t think it’s good to hold onto false hope, Rita continued. But she’s made me superstitious. She’s made me a dreamer. Rita ran her fingers through her hair and, noticing my stare, mentioned how frizzy the humidity made it. It’s especially bad this time of year, she said. I can’t wait for winter. A loose eyelash clung to her pale cheek.

I thought of what she’d said about luck and hope, and I left the eyelash alone. Just something else the wind might take with it.

What will you do if you ever see her again? I said.

I don’t want to, she said. Luck doesn’t strike twice.

But I have to see her again, I said. And the fear made my heart jump, made my throat turn dry and tight, made my palms grow damp and alien.

That’s the addict in you speaking, Rita said, and I rubbed at my pants, rubbed and rubbed wanting the feeling to get rubbed away.

I’m not addicted to her.

Aren’t you?

In my room, I rolled across my mattress. A knock on the door and Saul strolled inside. What’s going on? he said, and he fell onto the opposite end of the bed. You smell like the approaching hurricane, I said, and I did something I hadn’t planned. I jumped towards him and took a hard sniff.

You’re delusional, he said, you know that?

Across the room, Paolo was wrapped in his sheets, gone gone gone.

We all are, I said, and I returned to my spot on the bed, stretching my arms and legs out. Saul’s finger grazed mine, then our hands were pressed together. He climbed over my body and sucked on my bottom lip until a pearl of blood sprouted. I’d been chewing on it, I was a chewer, and now there was blood between us, almost a pact. I locked my legs around his torso and when he pushed into me, a sound sprung from the back of my throat. I told him he could fuck me, that I was already addicted to it all, and what was one more fuck?

•

We played drinking games with flat soda. King’s Cup. Never Have I Ever. Cheers To The Governor. Pizza Box. It was so stupid but there was nothing else to do. Rita sat in a corner on her phone, sometimes lifting her head to make sure none of us had suddenly OD’ed.

The building was hot and sticky. When the power went out, Rita handed out flashlights before lighting a dozen candles throughout the living room. I propped the window open through the boards we’d fastened, but the rain and wind slammed the glass. Saul told me to close it again, that was the safest thing to do. I sat back on the sofa, and the windows shook. The palm trees nearest the water were bending and twisting, the fronds whipping the floor before becoming loose and taking off with the next gust. The trees always did the most damage. That’s why they were kept short all along the coast.

How safe are we? I asked.

I think we’re pretty safe. 

Don’t most people abandon their homes for hotels anyway?

It’s not like this is much different.

I think we’re safe.

I tucked my legs beneath me and settled against the sofa, taking in the room. A coffee table, a TV, generic prints on the walls. Saul said, The manse survived the last hurricane, and the one before it. One of the few on the coast. That should be a good sign, no?

You’ve been to Clear Waters how many times? I asked. Holding my glass, Saul ambled towards the cart with the drinks and a bowl of individually wrapped candies. I was feeling strange, giddy and light, as though I was actually getting buzzed, as though someone had laced the sodas. Lighting flashed outside. I love hurricane season. I said this part out loud. Saul pushed my refreshed glass back into my hands. My eyes roved across the room until they landed on Rita, Rita and the dull tapstapstaps on her phone. When I called out her name, she lifted her head, fear flashing across her face. Maybe I’d screamed. Rita, I said. In your honest opinion, do you think any of us will leave this place changed?

Rita slid her phone between her breasts. I think you all have the power to change, she said. It’s whether you really want to or not.

Who here do you think truly wants to improve?

Rita pursed her lips then frowned. These questions make me think you aren’t taking rehab seriously, she said. I ran my finger along the glass’s rim. You wouldn’t understand, I said. Let’s play another drinking game. Who here do you trust the least?

You, Vladimir said.

There was water on the floor now. Less than an inch. I shuffled towards the window with a candle to watch the rain through the boards. Were we in the eye already? The wind died down but the sky kept on, weeping terribly.

And then, through the battered window, I was sure I could make out a figure approaching from the shore. My mind sharpened into sobriety, my heart practically skipping a beat. I pressed myself closer to the glass. I think it’s the mermaid, I murmured. Saul roused himself awake with a grunt. Mermaids don’t exist, he said. I told you this already.

The figure outside crossed the lawn. It paused by the pool toys tied to the furniture bolted to the ground. 

It’s just clumps of garbage kept together by fishnet, Saul said. The mind shows you what you want to see. I’m going to sleep.

And suddenly, I lost sight of it. The figure had dissolved back into the darkness. But I stayed there, watching. So did the others. And I felt a sense of communion that I hadn’t ever before, like these strangers were family, all of us crazy for the same thing. That’s all we wanted. Change.

In the morning, I dipped into the yard to examine the wreckage. Clear Waters and the neighboring homes were fine, but the houses across the bay were cleaved in half by torn trees. The hurricane had developed into a category four at the last minute. Boats from shore were stretched out on lawns. Homes were missing their roofs. I inched close to the murky water and couldn’t see a thing. But I could sense that she was still there. 

•

We were making pancakes for dinner when the flashing lights of a cop car next door ran past the kitchen walls. A half-hour passed before the cop knocked on the front door of Clear Waters. Rita let him in and we all gathered in the living room. He asked if we’d seen anything suspicious last night. 

You mean, besides the hurricane? Saul said. The cop nodded. Pretty difficult to see anything else, Saul said.

The cop looked at me. And you? he said. 

I shook my head. So did the others. One more thing we now shared—a secret.

The cop told us there’d been a burglary next door. That it wasn’t uncommon during hurricanes. It’s dangerous, he said. But it makes sense when so many folks abandon their homes for hotels further inland. Especially in a neighborhood like this.

Anyway, the cop said. Call us if you find that you’re missing anything too. Or if you remember anything. I was sure he was looking at me as he said this.

In the kitchen, Saul flipped pancakes as he talked about all the trips he wanted to plan for the rest of the year. Thailand, Japan, Belize. He hadn’t asked me to join him, though I don’t know why I expected he would. I thought about the mermaid again, and I felt a sadness fall over the edges of my mouth. 

What’s wrong? You’re going to miss me when I go?

Yes, I said. That’s it. 

•

The nurse rolled me out of my room and towards NewLiving’s rec center. It was mahjong time. The windows were open, the waters of the gulf blinking before a drag spotted with hotels. A few people were already waiting, brushed up against the table, inspecting the tiles with their fingers. I sat beside Jonno, who grunted. Several minutes passed before he looked up and waved me closer. In his low growl he told me there was someone new in town. 

The man was parked beside the window, with a thick beard and white curls springing from his shiny head, a face dotted with sunspots and large blackheads, a vape curled in his fist. The nurse was speaking to him, most likely telling him that vapes weren’t allowed. But he sucked on the tip again and blew a powerful wave out the window. I didn’t catch his face until he joined the mahjong game. Round after round. Death was allegedly around the corner, but I was betting most of us would be here for many more years than our families expected.

The bearded man had a certain energy to him. He tapped his tile, and by the tap I understood. 

At four-thirty, the nurses trickled in and began the slow process of herding us towards the dining room. We always ate a few minutes before five. The early-bird special for us all.

I was biting through a soft chunk of turnip when the man asked if I had ever seen her again. Your mermaid, he said.

I shook my head. This was the truth. I told him I’d thought about her religiously for years, then I reached a point when a few days could go by without her flashing in my mind, then a few months, then whole years. Though I admitted that I still felt something every hurricane season. Some kind of hope. That even if I wasn’t thinking about her, she still possessed my thoughts and my body.

I said, Did you ever go to Belize? Thailand? Japan?

I never made it out of Florida, he said. He had his elbows set on the table and rested his chin on his palms. He was still vibrating, but maybe less than before. I patted away at the corners of my mouth with a napkin. We’re old bats now, I said.

The things I did, Saul said. You’d never speak to me again. No, he said, I’ve never killed anyone. 

I understood from this that he must have done something nearly as bad. He tossed his empty bowl back to the table. I asked if he still only ate one meal a day and he laughed. Did I say that? he asked. 

Then: I’m not very good at playing mahjong, Saul said. He dug a fingernail into his teeth, and I wondered if they were real.

Are you still addicted to love? he asked.

You being here, now, I think this is the first trigger in a long time, I said. 

There was moisture now in my pants, but I didn’t care. It happened to all of us, so used to the phantom feelings of our bodies. The false alarms that weren’t always false.

Hurricane season is soon, Saul said. Will you spend it with me?

But I hardly know you.

We have time to change that. What do you say?

I have nowhere else to go.