AT FIRST, I SINK LIKE A COLD BUNDLE OF FLESH. MY arms no longer
function. I am a chunk of jetsam flung into the sea on a comatose journey toward the seafloor.
Then, with a twitch, my limbs awaken, and I am alive again.
I do not say this to give you false hope. My death is imminent. But I am not dead yet. I have time enough to bask in the vastness of the sea. A day or two, perhaps, to revel in darkness. Dark, like the bottom of the seafloor.
Darkness suits me.
After my release, I swam away from the rocks with haste. Soon, there was a drop-off. Down, down, down. Into the depths, the bowels of the sea, where no light reaches. Where once, as a juvenile, I found a key. Where I return now, to lie with the long-disintegrated bones of a beloved son.
I will be honest: this is not how I expected our time together to end. For nearly four years I was held captive and not a day passed when I did not ruminate on my own death, certain I would expire within the four glass walls of that tank. I never imagined I would know the freedom of the sea again.
How does it feel, you ask? It is comfortable. It is home. I am lucky. I am grateful.
But what will become of my replacement? Soon, Terry will begin cleaning and remodeling my tank. He will make no attempt to conceal these activities from the viewing public; the sign he tapes on the glass will read UNDER CONSTRUCTION:
NEW EXHIBIT COMING!
I stopped at her barrel on my journey out. Climbed up the side to peek at her. She is young and badly injured. Terrified,
naturally. But this new octopus will have a friend. One that I did not have until the very end. Tova will make sure she is happy, and I would trust Tova with my life. I did trust her with my life, more than once. Just as I trusted her with my death.
Humans. For the most part, you are dull and blundering.
But occasionally, you can be remarkably bright creatures.
