The Mermaid Tank

I tried to match her breath for breath as I watched her dive. Would press my hands and face to the glass as she twirled through the water, spinning for the punters, her ginger hair drifting like a storm. I had to take two breaths for every one of hers; sometimes even three.

A show would last hour. People would throw pennies in the tank and she would dart toward them, snatch them up and blow underwater kisses. Afterwards, Gerald the strongman would carry her to her trailer where she'd wriggle out of the mermaid suit.

My job was to wait outside then hang it on the clothesline. I loved that costume. It was speckled in sequins the color of emeralds and had a high waist that fastened just below her breasts. Forget about nurses, teachers, and doctors, I wanted to be a carnie mermaid when I grew up.

That night, after the gates were closed and the last drunk had staggered away, I stole her suit and ran to the tank. I was only eight. Despite the terrible fit I was able to fasten it under my arms, although the tail hung from my feet like an empty sack.

The tank was much deeper than it looked. The suit much heavier than I'd anticipated. It dragged me down. Stuck to me like a second skin. My lungs burned, I beat my legs uselessly inside the suit. The world edged itself in shades of gray and a terrible roaring static filled my ears.

And then she came. Suitless. Hair like wildfire. I saw gills at the small of her back, translucent fins sprouting down her thighs and calves, and between each toe a thick fold of webbing. The scales on her legs glittered like sequins. She had fooled us all.

Words: 300

Image courtesy of Sinned-Angel-Stock, Model C. Simonds