The first time Penny came running into the house, dripping wet and babbling about a mermaid in the lake, her mother was understandably skeptical. Penny had a powerful imagination, even for a twelve-year-old girl, and this would not be the first time some mythological creature had reportedly appeared to her. But the girl’s cropped copper hair was soaked, as were her old jeans, t-shirt, and worn sneakers. The sneakers were what gave Penny’s mother real pause. The girl knew better than to go swimming with them on; they had lived next to the lake her whole life.
“Penny,” Mother managed as soon as she could get a word in edgewise, “what have you done to your shoes?”
The girl paused mid-babble and looked down at the water-logged sneakers. She looked back up at Mother. “I told you, I fell into the lake and she pulled me to the surface, she saved my life, Mom—“
“You fell into the lake? Why didn’t you swim back to shore yourself?”
Penny’s cheeks flushed and her empty hands darted behind her back. “Um…”
“Penny,” said Mother, in that special tone.
A few mumbled words escaped the girl’s stiff lips.
“What was that?”
“I was hiking on the west side—” Penny began to mutter.
“On the cliffs! You fell into the lake from the cliffs!” Mother instantly gave her daughter a once-over for life-threatening injuries. “Penny, you know better than that, how many times do I have to tell you…” Her voice died away as she found, half to her disappointment, neither broken bones nor significant bruising. “Well, then.” She took a deep breath and smoothed back Penny’s hair. “You seem all right, this time. But I swear, Penny, if I ever hear of you on those cliffs again—”
“But the mermaid!”
“Never mind the mermaid, go get some dry clothes on. I mean now, Penny,” she added as the girl looked out longingly through their kitchen window to the lake beyond.
Penny went.
* * *
“And what has Penny drawn for us today?”
Penny looked up from her work, annoyed by the interruption. Mrs. Kisher, her art teacher, was standing over her desk, peering through her horn-rimmed glasses at the girl’s work. “Nothing, Mrs. Kisher,” she murmured.
Mrs. Kisher took no notice of this; she gently tugged at the paper, and Penny only let go to avoid ripping the piece. Mrs. Kisher sighed. “Not another mermaid, Penny. The assignment was to draw something you can see everyday from your window.”
“I do see her everyday from my window. At least, most days. She waves to me if she has time to play.”
The art teacher pursed her lips as she considered the drawing. Penny’s mother had told her, about three weeks ago, that the girl had nearly drowned by falling down some cliffs into the lake in back of their house. While neither mother nor doctors could find anything physically wrong with her, the girl had not stopped going on about her mermaid since. The crudely-drawn creature did look something like Mrs. Kisher’s idea of a mermaid; there was the tail-end of a fin sticking out of the water a short way away from a head framed by long grayish-blue hair. The mermaid’s eyes were blue as well, as they had been in every single piece Penny had done for art class during the past three weeks.
“I couldn’t get her hair right,” said Penny, misinterpreting Mrs. Kisher’s displeased expression. “It’s really a sort of silvery sapphire, that’s a nice word isn’t it, sapphire. She has a pair of sapphire earrings you know. She showed me.”
There was something almost indecently sincere in Penny’s expression. The girl obviously believed every word she had just spoken. “Very nice, dear,” said Mrs. Kisher, distractedly returning the drawing to Penny’s desk. She would have to talk to the girl’s mother about this. The fall might have done other damage besides physical.
* * *
Penny sat by the lake-facing window as her mother went on and on about plans for the girl’s thirteenth birthday party. Whom they could invite, the decorations, the games, the cake, and a hundred and one other inconsequential items seemed to be of paramount importance to Mother. Penny let the details wash over her, partaking in none of the excitement. The moon was just now rising, and in its waxing light the lake shimmered like Mother-of-Pearl, its surface unbroken. Penny’s eyes strained to see every inch of the glassy water; Sheyla had promised to meet her tonight.
They would visit the Skeleton Forest, she had said, where the dam that had burst to create this lake had also trapped countless trees below the water, gradually stripping them of leaves and bark until they stretched, bare and sharp but stuck in place, like the rotted bones of old warriors. If Penny held Sheyla’s hand, the mermaid’s magic would breathe for both of them below the surface. In this fashion Penny had met Sheyla’s family and several of the Fish Clans they ruled over, and she had even been allowed to join in the hunt for the renegade pike that had found its way to their lake and was wreaking havoc in the smaller, less protected clans. She would never forget the pounding excitement in her heart as she swam behind Sheyla as her brothers and father went ahead, armed with spears. Then—the swift silver streak as the beast charged, its cry as it was caught on the weapons, the huge mad eyes fixating on Penny as the pike died slowly, its blood staining the water and the stench of death filling her senses.
Her mother’s voice called her back to the small, ordinary confines of the kitchen, back to the unfinished homework before her, back to herself. “What do you think, Penny, would you prefer the pink invitations with balloons or the yellow ones with little presents all stacked up?”
“What? Oh, I don’t care, you pick.” There were ripples out on the water, the tell-tale shine of Sheyla’s hair in the moonlight. Penny bolted from her seat and to the door. “Gotta go Mom be back soon bye,” she garbled as she turned the handle.
“No, Penny.”
Something about the finality of the words made her pause. Penny turned around. Her mother stood, grave-faced, her arms firmly crossed. “I won’t be long,” she repeated.
“I said ‘no.’ Dr. Fletcher doesn’t think that indulging your fantasies is doing you any good, Penny, and I agree with him. You stay inside tonight, and out of the water.”
Something inside Penny went cold. She’d promised Sheyla she’d be there. “It’s just a short swim, Mom,” she tried. She knew better, by now, than to insist on the truth of her adventures. Dr. Fletcher said mermaids didn’t exist, and therefore, to Mother, they didn’t.
“No, Penny. Now come sit down at the table, and after you’re done with your homework you and I are going to pick out invitations. Is that clear?”
Penny swallowed, glanced out of the window behind her mother’s shoulder. Sheyla’s long arm was waving frantically above her head, and Penny’s heart ached to demand that her mother turn around, just look out the window and she would see. It had not worked before, it would not work now. For a single, desperate moment, she considered running for it. But her mother’s still, sad face wrenched at her. It wasn’t her fault, poor woman, that she couldn’t see. Wasn’t her fault that Penny had more important things to do.
Quietly, forcing herself to look away from the window, she walked back to the table and sat down.
* * *
With or without Penny’s involvement, the party seemed to be a success. There were boys and girls darting everywhere, often holding cake or a half-empty can of soda, and everyone was laughing and talking and generally having a good time. Everyone except Penny.
Mother had never seen the girl so quiet and withdrawn. Unlike the girl’s previous brooding moods, however, Penny almost religiously avoided any glance at the lake, never even venturing into the kitchen, where the window directly overlooked it. Normally Mother would have had to drag her away from the sight of the sparkling water; now she almost wished that her daughter would display such expected, manageable signs. Penny was silent as they sang “Happy Birthday,” silent as they cut the cake, silent as she opened her presents, only mumbling the very rare “thank you” to the giver. She did not participate in the carefully organized games unless Mother forced her to, and then only in quiet sufferance, her sad expression never wavering.
The other parents had the grace not to comment on this failing, and few even asked what was wrong with the child. Anyone who had not seen Penny near the lake in the past few months would think the girl was a zombie. Only when she got near the water did she show any sign of life, only then did Mother ever see her smile. Once, she had still been smiling when she had come back from a swim, hair still dark with water, clothes clinging to her half-dried body. But that had been several days ago—since the night of the party preparations Mother had forbade her daughter to go anywhere near the lake. Penny had obeyed, but it had been always in this quiet, unresponsive way.
Now the party was dwindling, guests slipping away quietly as if from a wake, only Mother bidding them farewell. When she shut the door behind the last of them, she turned to find Penny sitting in the living room, amidst debris of wrapping paper and scattered gifts, looking lost and utterly alone. Dr. Fletcher had told Mother not to give in to the girl, no matter what tactics she used, but at this moment her heart broke for her daughter.
So she took a deep breath and spoke before common sense could get the better of her, “Penny…there might be enough time for a short swim before bedtime.”
Slowly, incredulously, the girl raised her gaze to her mother’s face. “Really?” she breathed.
The hope that kindled behind those sad eyes swept away every restraint of caution. Mother smiled. “Yes. Consider it my birthday present.”
Penny did not dart off to put on her swimsuit, but rose slowly and crossed to her mother, each step deliberate. She took Mother’s hand in both her small ones, her eyes sincere and full of deep joy. “Thank you. Please, come down with me.”
Silently, Mother allowed herself to be escorted to the lake’s edge. Penny did not even kneel to remove her shoes before stepping into the shallows, where she sighed with pleasure. She turned back, and it seemed to Mother that her daughter’s brown eyes gleamed blue for an instant. “Thank you,” said Penny. “Goodbye, Mother.”
She did not dive into the water, nor slowly wade into the depths of the dark water. Mother did not even quite remember Penny letting go of her hand, but after a moment she realized that she was standing there alone, staring out over the lake.
The next morning she found a pair of sapphire earrings on Penny’s empty pillow.
too.
That'd be too sad! Hehehe, but the ending is good. I like it kept open to interpretation. I really have nothing to complain about in this. I believe the fixes Alley pointed out would improve it, but they aren't necessary. Awesometastic! *claps for Gyr*
