Wet summer storms blew open windows while we sat alongside the ancient, decaying woman. Her dead-leaf lips shaped soft consonants and vowels and her round, hairless feet peeked from underneath the blanket like moons. Those nights the green-cheese moon illuminated our smiling faces as we unearthed a thousand -year old memories. When she died they removed everything, after folding it away in small, neat squares I knew she would have detested. Within one day they wheeled in a new bed, along with a shiny vase of fake roses. Only one mark of her presence remained, and that was her smell, a sweet melody of baby shampoo and jasmine flowers. She was cold and gray when they pushed her away, still tucked beneath her thin blue sheets. I noticed that I could no longer see her feet. I wondered, then, if she’d shrunken over the years. She always hated that room and the stiff grin of its plastic flowers.

I heard my grandfather’s voice, on the other line. I imagined that he sat slumped in one of the living room’s many elegant chairs. His form, so undefined next to something of such sophistication, offered a hilarious juxtaposition that weaved a smile unto my lips. He then told me of you. You were visiting Shiraz along with your mother. I wondered, then, if your mind ever skips back to me. Do you walk past the marble columns that wear their cracks like silver veins, and imagine me, fingering the cold stone, struggling with a deep-rooted sadness, longing to see it go? Do you walk past the chicken coops, and hear the violent scratching of its many hens and roosters; do you smell their warm feces, the stale watermelon, and think of me, squatted on the floor, ankle-deep in mud, poking my fingers through the wire to provoke a short-tempered rooster from his half-sleep? Do you, while awaiting your lunch, imagine me scampering into the room, my cheeks matching the cherry-rice I offered to you? Do you ever run amongst the pebbles, get dust in your eyes, and think of how I nearly lost my sight, long, long ago? And how about the stray dog’s soft moans, do you think of my vain efforts to soothe his frightened cries? When I am alone, many years from now, with silvery hair that runs past my shoulders to reach my ankles, I will still think of you before that change took place. I will always think of you as I loved you: bright-eyed and curious, laughing through the day. Your dirty-knuckles and shameless grins always made my stomach ache.

Before I grew up, I grew down, down into the silver sea...

I went out to sea
To smell its salty air
And came back with memories
Sprouting from my hair

The poky apartment felt even smaller during the summer. Illy drifted in and out of its rooms, trying to quell her swelling frustration with the soupy heat. She considered stripping off all her clothes and wading in ice water so that her blood might freeze. After an hour of standing half-naked in the living room, the heat like a knife through her chest, Illy finally left the apartment. Outside, she breathed in the city’s warm and sticky smell, a smell shaped by buttery pastries, spicy Indian food and car exhaust. The afternoon sun shined so brightly that the young girl’s world started turning silver as she glided towards the ocean.
While she walked, Illy overheard conversations floating from outdoor cafés. A minute later and the screech of car horns sifted over the delicate pitter-patter of conversation, until every sound became part of one larger sound, and she couldn’t quite tell what she was hearing. Soon, she could hear the salty swish of the ocean’s waves.
The beach was always crowded because most people in the city did not own backyards. They couldn’t find solace in itchy carpets, or pretend that their bathtubs held the entire ocean, especially all of its unique life forms, like spiky sea cucumbers and the fish that felt slimy-cool as they swam between your legs. On her way to the shore, Illy observed families that gathered with their sandy towels, half-eaten watermelons, and last night’s potato salad. They grinned at her with seeds shining in their teeth. Meanwhile, pot-bellied toddlers revealed their day’s findings: several dozen wriggling hermit crabs, each with shells that sparkled like M&Ms. Illy smiled before continuing her journey.
The ocean water felt deliciously cold around her pink ankles. Before moving further into the sea, she stood a moment to observe how her big toe sank into the squishy sand. The cool water felt so soothing as it pushed against her warm body, that she couldn’t help but swim further and further. Slowly, the families turned into colorful specks dotting the coastline, and their chattering dissolved, quickly replaced by the swoosh of the waves. Moments later, Illy looked around her and was stunned to find that she couldn’t see anything but the sea. The foamy blue water rippled before her, behind her, and all around her. She slapped the water, attempting to push herself above its surface, but was less than shocked to find that it did not at all help her pitiful situation. Illy could just imagine tomorrow’s newspaper headlines declaring her tragic death at sea, her mother wouldn’t even finish reading the article because her tears would swirl with the ink and create a goopy mess.
She was about to cry when she felt something slimy lightly skim the bottom of her feet. Illy froze, anchored by an acidic fear. She could either look down or wait for the treacherous, three-eyed sea monster to slice off all her toes, and then the blood that would flow, how quickly it would attract more vicious creatures! She looked down. But to her surprise, instead of razor sharp teeth or sinister yellow eyes she saw a mermaid’s tail that shimmered like stained glass during the quiet calm of orange afternoons.