{"id":13625,"date":"2017-05-25T05:00:00","date_gmt":"2017-05-25T12:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/bullmensfiction.com\/?p=13625"},"modified":"2022-08-03T13:14:26","modified_gmt":"2022-08-03T17:14:26","slug":"the-immortal-jellyfish","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/fiction\/the-immortal-jellyfish\/","title":{"rendered":"The Immortal Jellyfish"},"content":{"rendered":"

Shored up with what he believes to be sound intelligence, Clay mounts his metallic-blue ten-speed, punches the code\u20141234<\/em>\u2014into the keypad and coasts down the drive.\u00a0 The garage door makes an agonizing clamor upon its descent and for this reason Clay frantically pedals away from his home.\u00a0 Those gears are in desperate need of a good greasing.\u00a0 His father, who visits on odd weekends, always remembers that he has forgotten to bring a can of WD-40 as he waits in his idling red Pontiac Fiero for the door to lift and reveal his trepidatious son slouching in the ever-diminishing shadow vehemently clutching a Star Wars-themed overnight duffle.\u00a0 Today, a Saturday, is not Dad\u2019s weekend.\u00a0 The old man is golfing with pals.<\/p>\n

Saturdays are busy at See You Tomorrow<\/em>, the multi-purpose future-predicting one-stop-shop in the strip mall down on Atlantic Boulevard where Mom is Madame Galaxy, a reputable astrologer.\u00a0 She likes to check in on her son during lunch break.\u00a0 Clay left a note upon the kitchen counter explaining that he is biking to the beach with Jeff and won\u2019t be home until five.\u00a0 Cranking like a maniac, the boy\u2019s feathered red hair unfeathers in a gust of his own making.<\/p>\n

Jeff actually does not factor into the plan.\u00a0 In fact, Jeff can just die and go to hell, as far as Clay is concerned, after yesterday\u2019s incident on the tetherball court.\u00a0 At school, Clay likes to eat his lunch outside beneath the bleachers near the basketball courts with a few other ninth graders.\u00a0 The quickest eaters play first.\u00a0 Friday, as he bent down to tie his Reebok sneakers, which chronically come undone, he failed to calculate the elliptical trajectory of the tethered and mostly-deflated yellow ball.\u00a0 He has a C- in geometry.\u00a0 Which doesn\u2019t matter.\u00a0 Jeff served a stinger that thwapped Clay directly in the ass and caused him to topple over into a pile of color-drained black mulch.\u00a0 All the pimply outcasts in line laughed.\u00a0 So, no Jeff this morning.\u00a0 No fucking Jeff ever<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Pompano Beach is a seven mile bike ride from Clay\u2019s suburban home.\u00a0 A mile south of Pompano, beyond the hotels and condos and tucked into a semi-secluded cove\u2014so he\u2019s heard\u2014is the nude beach.\u00a0 The beach itself doesn\u2019t have a name; it\u2019s just nude<\/em>.\u00a0 This, according to Clay\u2019s PE partner, Nina.\u00a0 Nina can sprint like a panther, do fifty chin-ups, and understands how to high-jump.\u00a0 She\u2019s on the volleyball team and is a murderous spiker.\u00a0 Clay, at least a head shorter, has adopted a habit of standing on his toes when he is near her.\u00a0 His arches often ache.<\/p>\n

Yesterday, between sit-ups in the gymnasium, Nina told Clay that Ms. Flagrant, the PE teacher, went to the nude beach on weekends.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s why you don\u2019t see tan lines around her bra strap,\u201d Nina casually explained.\u00a0 Though Clay spent all of warm-up time\u2014particularly when Ms. Flagrant participated in toe-touches\u2014staring at what the bra contained he nearly-never considered the strap lines.<\/p>\n

\u201cNude beach?\u201d he\u2019d said, winded.<\/p>\n

\u201cYup.\u00a0 It\u2019s close.\u00a0 You can see everything<\/em>.\u00a0 Even her mons venus.\u201d<\/p>\n

Clay had no idea what Nina was talking about.\u00a0 Dad, who did the Puberty Talk one recent awkward weekend, never said squat about mom\u2019s planets\u2014Venus or otherwise.\u00a0 And, quite frankly, he doesn\u2019t want to think about mom\u2019s anything.\u00a0 \u201cReally?\u201d he\u2019d said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYup,\u201d Nina replied, nodding her head.\u00a0 She kept her hair in a tight coil and never let it down during school.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019ll draw you a map.\u00a0 See for yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n

Clay is adept at zoning out.\u00a0 Ordinarily, when an adult is prattling on about this or that, his mouth parts slightly and his eyelids dip.\u00a0 Though he\u2019ll know soon enough, he has no idea how much information his brain is sponging despite his lack of attention.\u00a0 Meaning: he doesn\u2019t know what he knows.\u00a0 Which is why he wasn\u2019t really paying attention to the Puberty Talk or the mandatory Sex Ed. Class (in which he received a C-).\u00a0 He is, then, he\u2019s sure, a few beats behind his ninth-grade peers in the sexual-experience category.\u00a0 Nina drew the map on a brown-paper towel.\u00a0 Her looping penmanship seemed salacious and filled with promise. Where the shore bends there\u2019s a boldly-drawn X.\u00a0 \u201cThat\u2019s where you\u2019ll find the booty,\u201d she joked.<\/p>\n

Though he laughed then, he\u2019s not laughing now.\u00a0 His tongue is protruding slightly from chapped lips and he is gripping the map in a hand that is also wrapped around the bike\u2019s curved handlebar.\u00a0 Clay is wearing his favorite tank top which has the word Thrash<\/em> emblazoned in black upon the yellow-colored cotton shirt front.\u00a0 His freckled shoulders are shades lighter than his arms.\u00a0 He\u2019s wearing his green bathing suit.\u00a0 There\u2019s a striped towel draped around his neck and his sunglasses keep slipping down the bridge of his hastily-sun-screened nose.\u00a0 He\u2019s two blocks away from his house before it occurs to him that he might have to get nude in order to gain access to the nude beach.\u00a0 Like, maybe there\u2019s a naked security guard holding a menacing billy club denying him access unless he strips down.\u00a0 This possibility causes him to swerve off the sidewalk and nearly into the street.<\/p>\n

A few months ago Clay\u2019s mother took him to the doctor for a physical.\u00a0 He didn\u2019t want her to enter the exam room with him but, once upon a time there was an incident, so unless you were eighteen you had to be accompanied by an adult.\u00a0 Doc, who knew the Crenshaws, made corny jokes about the solar system and flirted with Clay\u2019s mother whom he called, Ms. Galaxy.\u00a0 Lots of men acted gaga around her.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s the red hair,\u201d she explained to Clay one afternoon once the UPS guy finally drove away.\u00a0 \u201cYou\u2019ll see.\u201d\u00a0 To that, Clay had said, \u201cOh.\u201d\u00a0 To the doctor, during the physical, he had asked, \u201cHow tall am I going to get?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat depends on your genes.\u00a0 How tall is his progenitor?\u201d the Doc asked Mom.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot very,\u201d she said with a contorted half-snort.<\/p>\n

\u201cHa ha,\u201d the Doctor said, standing up straight and twirling his stethoscope.<\/p>\n

Clay\u2019s inquiry about his height was a decoy.\u00a0 A set-up for what he really wanted to ask which was: \u201cHow big will my member get?\u201d\u00a0 After cycling through an online thesaurus, surprised at how many words there were for penis\u2014cock, chub, peter, putz, tool, johnson, prick, lizard, willy\u2014he\u2019d settled on member,<\/em> a word he felt someone might use in a doctor\u2019s office during a physical.\u00a0 He didn\u2019t, however, have the balls\u2014the gonads, stones, nuts, rocks, testes, family jewels\u2014to inquire in the presence of his mother.\u00a0 And he didn\u2019t know how to get her to leave.\u00a0 So, he slung his head low, on the paper-wrapped examining table, surrounded by herpes posters and glass containers filled with tongue depressors, and kept his trap shut.\u00a0 He coughed lightly when asked.<\/p>\n

Clay suspects that his member isn\u2019t the proper, healthy, normal size for a boy his age.\u00a0 The only porn he\u2019s been able to view through the internet filter on his computer features girls.\u00a0 Jeff\u2019s laptop doesn\u2019t have filters and though his ex<\/em>-friend invited Clay over to check out some hardcore shit<\/em>, Clay wasn\u2019t comfortable with that plan one iota.\u00a0 Sitting with Jeff in the filthy, small bedroom with the squeaky overhead fan and Jeff\u2019s musky body odor circulating all over the place while gawking at people fucking and then maybe checking out the guy\u2019s schlong\u2014and schlong<\/em> seems like the word they\u2019d use in the porn industry\u2014struck Clay as highly problematic. Like, what if he became aroused?\u00a0 Which was the point?\u00a0 How does the brain and body work in concert when his vision moves from the exposed parts of the woman to the exposed parts of the man to Jeff grinning like a lunatic and breathing heavy?\u00a0 Where does the eroticism begin and where does it end?\u00a0 Might wires get crossed; circuits shorted?\u00a0 Plus, those porn-guys\u2019 wieners are probably not proportional to the general male population.\u00a0 Likely, they had to try out for the part.\u00a0 On top of all that, sometimes Clay receives spam in his email account promoting penis pumps, a concept that baffles the boy.\u00a0 So, yeah; forget about getting naked on the nude beach with his possibly-still-developing manhood in front of Ms. Flagrant.<\/p>\n

When Clay decides to turn around, the loose shoelace on his left Reebok catches in the teeth of the bike chain and causes him to wobble, distracted, into the street.<\/p>\n

One thing drivers in South Florida refuse to do is stop at stop signs.\u00a0 The green F-five million Ford Super-drive Mega-powered quadruple-duallied\u2014you could hardly call it a pick-up truck, more like pick-up tank<\/em>\u2014collides with the agitated boy on the bike as he\u2019s attempting to cross Riverside Drive.\u00a0 Clay and his ten-speed pinwheel into the sky.\u00a0 Suspended in that millisecond, it\u2019s kind of a cool thrill.\u00a0 He\u2019s flying<\/em>! Maybe it\u2019s actually not cool for a millisecond; more like a nanosecond?\u00a0 Or less, even.\u00a0 Half-heartbeat?\u00a0 Clay\u2019s not sure.\u00a0 Though he\u2019s been taught it, the boy is not considering Newton\u2019s laws of motion.\u00a0 Force (f) = mass (m) times acceleration (a).\u00a0 If he remembered that every action has an equal and opposite reaction he would never think that careening through the air is cool, no matter the brief, nearly-incomprehensible time he spends soaring.<\/p>\n

The boy awkwardly reacquaints himself with the earth.\u00a0 His apple-colored hair reddens from the split-skull seepage.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

How was Nina to know that her little white lie re: the nude beach whereupon the resplendently-buxomed Ms. Flagrant sprawled in the buff would lead to such ill-fated consequences?\u00a0 You cannot rightly blame her.\u00a0 She wasn\u2019t the hit-and-run driver.\u00a0 She didn\u2019t twist his arm or hold a gun to his head.\u00a0 In fact, Nina tells herself as she does partner-less sit-ups in the gymnasium during PE, she was, if you think about it, extending Clay\u2014an awkward boy by anyone\u2019s account\u2014a favor.\u00a0 Unlike the other freshman, who are absolutely distraught<\/em> by the news that Clayton Crenshaw has slipped into a coma out of which he may or may not awaken, unlike them<\/em>, she actually talked with him.\u00a0 Kind of even maybe liked him.\u00a0 He\u2019d sometimes slip into a far-away stare when they were in Art class which enshrouded him with what you might call an air of contemplative mystery.\u00a0 She\u2019d heard that his mother \u201cread the stars\u201d so he was bound to be at least a little deepdish.\u00a0 Probably he saw constellations when he gazed into the night sky.<\/p>\n

Now, of course, since three weeks have passed and flowers have been sent on behalf of the school, fewer and fewer students are thinking about their classmate.\u00a0 Summer is on the horizon and the young know better than to grieve for long.<\/p>\n

Still, though, Nina hasn\u2019t forgotten.\u00a0 She nearly spilled the beans to her friend Amy the other day during volleyball practice.\u00a0 Almost admitted that she told Clay about the non-existent nude beach.\u00a0 But, so; no, she didn\u2019t.\u00a0 Bit her tongue instead.\u00a0 The tip of which\u2014her tongue\u2014is protruding from her lips as she does solo sit-ups on the sweat-funky old gym mats.\u00a0 She wonders, since she knows she\u2019s not going to say anything to her friend, if there\u2019s something she can do.\u00a0 To help Clay.\u00a0 Or, at least, to make herself feel better about her microscopic (maybe even smaller) role in the unfortunate incident.\u00a0 Wonders so hard that she loses track of the number of sit-ups she is completing.<\/p>\n

Life, Nina knows, is a series of hurdles.\u00a0 Or hoops.\u00a0 Hurdles or hoops over or through which she must jump.\u00a0 See an obstacle, address it, and conquer it.\u00a0 Just because you ignore a problem doesn\u2019t mean the problem ignores you.\u00a0 It can fester.\u00a0 It\u2014a nagging sense of guilt\u2014has been gnashing her guts since she heard about the accident.\u00a0 There, now; at least she can admit it to herself.\u00a0 To acknowledge an itsy-bitsy crumb of responsibility.\u00a0 She did draw him the map.\u00a0 He was on the way to the beach.\u00a0 He is in a coma.\u00a0 These are facts.\u00a0 Maybe she\u2019s at one-hundred and twenty sit-ups by now.<\/p>\n

What you\u2019re supposed to do when you are able to admit that you\u2019ve done something wrong is do something right.\u00a0 You counter-activate.\u00a0 De-tangle.\u00a0 Turn the tide.\u00a0 Overcome inertia.\u00a0 Once you\u2019ve jumped over\/through the hurdle\/hoop you feel better.\u00a0 Move forward.\u00a0 It\u2019s scientific.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey,\u201d Ms. Flagrant says.\u00a0 \u201cWake up, Nina.\u00a0 That\u2019s enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

And there it is.\u00a0 There they<\/em> are.\u00a0 Ms. Flagrant is leaning, hands lightly resting atop Nina\u2019s bony knees, her tee-shirt drooping low enough for Nina to plainly see two ample melons tucked tightly into her teacher\u2019s fashionable black sports bra.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh,\u201d Nina says, eyes full, \u201cright.\u201d\u00a0 The pin-prick of a pre-idea scuttles up the downy hair upon the back of her neck.<\/p>\n

Ms. Flagrant is also Coach Flagrant.\u00a0 She\u2019s in charge of the girl\u2019s volleyball team.\u00a0 Nina, with Amy and her other teammates, stays after school for practice every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.\u00a0 Since she only lives a block away and her parents work until 5:30, Nina catches a ride home with Amy\u2019s older brother Flint, a senior, who stays after for band.<\/p>\n

Today is Friday.\u00a0 PE was on Wednesday.\u00a0 Nina\u2019s had two days to come up with a plan.\u00a0 Now, as she and Amy wait atop the hood of Flint\u2019s yellow Mitsubishi Mirage, it\u2019s time to execute it.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh shit,\u201d Nina says, \u201cI forgot my Algebra book.\u00a0 We\u2019ve got that test on Monday.\u00a0 I\u2019m going to run and get it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Amy is texting which is what she always does.\u00a0 \u201cYou can borrow mine,\u201d she says, eyes down.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. \u00a0I\u2019ve got notes in the margins.\u00a0 It\u2019ll just take a sec.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHurry,\u201d Amy mutters.\u00a0 \u201cFlint won\u2019t wait.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will,\u201d Nina says, already moving toward the entrance.<\/p>\n

The gym is located in the left wing of the school.\u00a0 She speed-walks past a smattering of boys loitering near the trophy case toward the girls locker room where she purposefully left her textbook beneath a bench.<\/p>\n

Coach Flagrant always showers at the school on Fridays, after the girls have gone.\u00a0 Fridays, she joins Ms. Roarback, Ms. Jentworth, and Ms. Kashari for Happy Hour at Ballyhoo\u2019s and it\u2019s just easier for her to go directly from school.\u00a0 Not many of the girls know about Ms. Flagrant\u2019s habits, but Nina does.\u00a0 She is a people watcher.<\/p>\n

The plan is simple: snap a shot of Ms. Flagrant in the buff, print out a copy (her father has a color printer in his office), fold it up, and send it anonymously to Clay in the hospital (without a return address).\u00a0 Won\u2019t he be surprised when he wakes up?\u00a0 Beats daffodils and saccharine drivel inked into a Hallmark card.<\/p>\n

Within Nina there is a space occupying an unchartered region of the occipital lobe\u2014a place that doesn\u2019t translate reason in a way that\u2019s recognizable to neuroscientists\u2014where, deep down, she believes that the photograph might actually compel Clay to open his eyes.\u00a0 Like, somehow, he\u2019s waiting for Nina to complete his unfinished quest.\u00a0 Clay is the damsel in distress and Nina the chivalrous knight.\u00a0 Ms. Flagrant is like the golden chalice or fleece or whatever.\u00a0 She can\u2019t remember exactly what King Arthur and the other fools were searching for and it doesn\u2019t matter.\u00a0 The point is, a picture is worth a thousand words and maybe a nude one is worth more.<\/p>\n

Nina closes the locker room door quietly.\u00a0 She withdraws her cellphone and arms the camera.\u00a0 There is the hollow splatter of water slapping tile in the shower arena.\u00a0 The school used to provide curtains in two stall sections for the shy girls but the plastic became moldy, the janitor removed them, and they haven\u2019t been replaced.\u00a0 Flattening herself against the outside wall, Nina cranes her head\u2014ninja-style\u2014to see what she can see.\u00a0 Sure enough, there\u2019s Ms. Flagrant all lathered, back turned, humming a tune that Nina can\u2019t quite place. \u00a0Nina zooms in and waits for Coach to turn around so that she can capture all of the goods.\u00a0 Flagrant bends to fetch the shampoo.\u00a0 She works it in like a pro, humming as she kneads.\u00a0 Finally, she spins.\u00a0 Nina snaps rapid-fire shots\u2014click, click, click\u2014like the paparazzi.\u00a0 Her heart whiplashes.\u00a0 Palms sweat.\u00a0 The tiny hairs on the nape of her neck bristle a warning that she needs to bolt, like now<\/em>.\u00a0 Carefully, Nina retreats.\u00a0 She snags the Algebra book, squeezes out the door, sprints down the hall, bursts outside, and jogs to the parking lot where Amy and Flint are waiting.<\/p>\n

Later, after dinner, in the privacy of her locked bedroom, sitting at her desk, Nina reviews the pictures.\u00a0 In the first shot, there\u2019s so much steam that Ms. Flagrant\u2019s body appears wavy.\u00a0 In the second shot, Coach\u2019s eyes are half-open as she\u2019s swiping away shampoo and she sort of resembles a zombie.\u00a0 Either Nina\u2019s holding the cellphone crooked or Ms. Flagrant\u2019s boobs are uneven because they\u2019re lop-sided in the next shot.\u00a0 She\u2019s kind of squatting, for some reason, in this one.\u00a0 She probably should shave those armpits.\u00a0 Is that a hickey or a bruise on her thigh?\u00a0 In the last shot her lips, mid-hum, are puckered and blubbering.\u00a0 She looks as erotic as a sea turtle.\u00a0 The pictures wouldn\u2019t rouse a horndog from a catnap let alone a sensitive boy in a full blown coma.\u00a0 Plus, and, well, yeah\u2014she should have thought of this earlier\u2014Ms. Flagrant is in the shower not at the beach.\u00a0 Clay\u2019s quest was to the mythical shore.\u00a0 So, this won\u2019t work at all.\u00a0 She punches delete.\u00a0 Then, \u201cTomorrow\u201d hits her.\u00a0 The ditty from Annie<\/em>.\u00a0 That\u2019s the tune Coach was humming.\u00a0 Nina can\u2019t quell a pinch of embarrassment she feels for her teacher.\u00a0 It\u2019s the kind of kid\u2019s show tune she might have whistled when she was like, eight or something.\u00a0 She half-thinks, as she lets her hair down for bed, that she should spill the beans to Amy so they can both enjoy a hearty chuckle at the expense of their teacher.\u00a0 Course, how will she explain overhearing Flagrant in the shower?\u00a0 The question might arouse suspicion.\u00a0 Then Amy would call Nina a creepster.\u00a0 Or a lesbian.\u00a0 Probably best to stay tight-lipped and come up with another plan.<\/p>\n

Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there\u2019ll be sun.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fucking scientists, man.\u00a0 Fucking scientists<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Hello?<\/p>\n

Remember what they did to Ming?<\/p>\n

Um.\u00a0 Where am I?<\/p>\n

They killed him.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m dead?<\/p>\n

Not you.\u00a0 Ming.\u00a0 Remember?<\/p>\n

What happened to me?<\/p>\n

It\u2019s boring.\u00a0 You got plowed.\u00a0 Now you\u2019re in a coma, blah, blah, blah.\u00a0 You need to pay better attention.<\/p>\n

Coma?<\/p>\n

Yeah.\u00a0 And you\u2019re not alone.<\/p>\n

Are you God?<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t be a moron.\u00a0 I\u2019m you, you\u2019re me; we\u2019re we.<\/p>\n

You\u2019re like, my spirit?<\/p>\n

Neurologists would say that I am a series of cognitive synapses firing.\u00a0 When your blood pressure drops like it\u2019s doing now, the vagus nerve delivers blood from the heart to the semi-conscious territory in your cerebellum.<\/p>\n

So, I\u2019m dreaming?<\/p>\n

Not technically.\u00a0 If you were asleep you\u2019d wake up when your body was done resting.\u00a0 When your blood had enough oxygen.\u00a0 The stasis you\u2019re in doesn\u2019t operate like that.<\/p>\n

Why not?<\/p>\n

Excessive brain churn.\u00a0 Over-stimulation.\u00a0 Unfinished thoughts have breached the floodgates. \u00a0Questions are rising from the depth and waiting.<\/p>\n

For answers?<\/p>\n

Yes.<\/p>\n

I want to know when I\u2019ll wake up.<\/p>\n

I already told you that you\u2019re not asleep.\u00a0 Plus, a better question would be if<\/em> you\u2019ll regain consciousness, not when.<\/p>\n

Will I?<\/p>\n

Hard to say.\u00a0 That\u2019s what doctors told your parents when they asked.<\/p>\n

They\u2019re here?<\/p>\n

Mom\u2019s nearby.<\/p>\n

Where?<\/p>\n

Listen, you\u2019re getting agitated.\u00a0 Let\u2019s slow down.\u00a0 We\u2019ll return to Ming in a minute.\u00a0 What do you last remember?<\/p>\n

I was on my bike.\u00a0 Heading to the nude beach.\u00a0 My shoelace came undone.<\/p>\n

Good.<\/p>\n

Then what?<\/p>\n

Then, now.\u00a0 Here, with me.\u00a0 See if you can delve deeper.<\/p>\n

Into the past?<\/p>\n

When you were a kid you used to wonder where the tooth fairy took the teeth.<\/p>\n

And why<\/em> she took them.<\/p>\n

But now you know that Mom keeps them in her jewelry box.\u00a0 She\u2019s going to super-glue them to a frame with a picture of you as a baby.\u00a0 The one where you\u2019re at the beach.<\/p>\n

Pail on my head.\u00a0 Clutching sand.\u00a0 Naked but for the soggy diaper.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s the one.\u00a0 Grinning slack jaw.\u00a0 A pre-teeth snapshot.<\/p>\n

All right.\u00a0 That\u2019s cool if it\u2019ll make her happy.\u00a0 Now what?<\/p>\n

You ready for Ming?<\/p>\n

The clam?<\/p>\n

Born during the Ming dynasty.<\/p>\n

I remember.\u00a0 The online headline was something like, \u201cScientists accidently kill oldest living animal.\u201d<\/p>\n

Oldest known<\/em> living animal.\u00a0 There\u2019s a difference.\u00a0 In order to determine an official age, the clam had to be pried open.\u00a0 You have to count the rings.\u00a0 Scientists were too forceful.<\/p>\n

It died because scientists were curious about its age.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s what the article said.\u00a0 Five hundred and nine years old.\u00a0 You found the news ironic.\u00a0 And then you wondered what the new<\/em> oldest known living animal is but instead of looking that up\u2026<\/p>\n

I visited Hott Girlz Xposed.<\/p>\n

Correct.<\/p>\n

Still don\u2019t know how that site gets through the internet filter\u2026<\/p>\n

\u2026now that Ming is dead Shakes is the oldest known living animal.<\/p>\n

Another clam?<\/p>\n

Quahog.\u00a0 An arctica islandica<\/em>.\u00a0 Dredged off Newfoundland.\u00a0 He\u2019s four hundred and twelve years old. Named after Shakespeare.<\/p>\n

Who cares?<\/p>\n

Everyone should.\u00a0 You, in particular.<\/p>\n

Why?<\/p>\n

You know.<\/p>\n

I do?<\/p>\n

Yeah.\u00a0 Everything is in your head.<\/p>\n

How do I get it out?<\/p>\n

Coax it.\u00a0 Bit by bit.\u00a0 Think it through.\u00a0 People want to live forever, right?\u00a0 These quahogs are capable of living for hundreds of years.\u00a0 If we can figure out how they are able to live so long, maybe we can extend our own lives.<\/p>\n

All right.\u00a0 That makes sense.\u00a0 So, how are they able to live so long?<\/p>\n

Scientists believe it\u2019s their slow metabolism, but that\u2019s not the reason.\u00a0 The reason, I\u2019m afraid, doesn\u2019t make sense.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not reasonable.<\/p>\n

True, all the same, though.\u00a0 And important.<\/p>\n

Tell me.<\/p>\n

You ready?<\/p>\n

I am.<\/p>\n

Clams live off the dreams of children.<\/p>\n

They do what, now?<\/p>\n

They\u2019ve got these infinitely-long microscopic tongues\u2014invisible to humans\u2014that shoot out of their mouth and probe the dreamscape.\u00a0 They can sense innocence and when they find it, always in the young, they bore into the ear canals and probe kid skulls.\u00a0 They gorge on pure thoughts, suck away guiltlessness, then recoil, sated, and clamp that goodness shut tight where they nest in the muck.<\/p>\n

Um.\u00a0 They\u2019re like aliens?<\/p>\n

That\u2019s why adults are such puny, frightened husks.\u00a0 They\u2019ve been siphoned by ancient clams.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s hard to swallow.<\/p>\n

Better wrap your head around it because there\u2019s a quahog off Pompano Beach who has a taste for you right now.\u00a0 Ponce de Leon sailed over her, back in the day.<\/p>\n

Really?<\/p>\n

Can\u2019t you feel it?<\/p>\n

Well.\u00a0 I mean.\u00a0 My toes tingle a little.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s it.\u00a0 Wiggle those fuckers.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It takes the entire weekend for Nina to work out the specifics of her next attempt at leaping the hurdle and\/or diving through the hoop in terms of procuring a nude photo and awakening Clay from his maybe-permanent slumber.\u00a0 Plan B isn\u2019t as simple as Plan A.\u00a0 It requires great sacrifice on Nina\u2019s part which she has convinced herself she\u2019s willing to offer.<\/p>\n

Recently, Amy bought her brother Flint a retractable selfie stick for his eighteenth birthday.\u00a0 What you do is slide your cellphone into a mechanical claw, telescope the pole, and trigger the shot.\u00a0 Or you can use a timer.\u00a0 It allows you to take full body shots, not just close-ups.\u00a0 Flint uses it when he plays guitar.<\/p>\n

Monday, after practice, when Flint drops the girls off at Amy\u2019s house (before driving to the mall where he works at Music and More), Nina says she needs to use the bathroom.\u00a0 It can\u2019t wait until she walks home.\u00a0 Amy doesn\u2019t care.\u00a0 She slumps upon the caramel-colored horsehair sofa and texts Jeff Andrews, her on-again\/off-again maybe boyfriend.<\/p>\n

Amy lives in a single-story house which resembles all the other homes in the neighborhood.\u00a0 Once every few years a hurricane will salsa across South Florida.\u00a0 It\u2019ll huff and puff and blow shit down.\u00a0 The closer a building squats to the ground, the shorter it falls when a big bad storm strikes.\u00a0 There are pictures of sailboats adorning the walls.\u00a0 The floors are covered with off-white colored Spanish tiles which emit a timid squeal as Nina tip-toes down the hall.<\/p>\n

Flint\u2019s bedroom is across from the bathroom.\u00a0 Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder to make sure Amy isn\u2019t looking, Nina sneaks into the room.<\/p>\n

Nina has been in the bedroom before.\u00a0 Sometimes Flint will force Nina and Amy to sit on the unmade bed and listen to him play original songs on his acoustic guitar.\u00a0 Then, what he used to do is demand that someone films him so he could upload the tune on MyRiffs and wait to be discovered.\u00a0 Now, with the selfie stick, he can do it himself.<\/p>\n

Flint\u2019s got an aquarium next to his bed in which a pale-colored iguana named Rump\u2014short for Rumpelstiltskin\u2014dozes under a heat lamp.\u00a0 One of the recent topics of discussion at the Buckner residence is what\u2019s going to happen to Rump once Flint moves to college in the fall.\u00a0 The parents have already said no way are they taking care of it.\u00a0 Amy has flat-out refused, too.\u00a0 The thing freaks her out with its perpetually-molting tail and the creepy sound of its reptilian nails scratching at the newspaper-lined metal pan at the bottom of the cage.\u00a0 The sound, she claims, makes her teeth vibrate unpleasantly.\u00a0 Plus, its excrement reminds her of guacamole, which is one of her favorite foods.\u00a0 So, if her parents try to make her watch Rump she threatened to set it free.\u00a0 South Floridians love to purchase exotic reptiles, keep them for a while, and then release them into the wild where they can fuck shit up.\u00a0 All Flint is asking is for someone to like baby-sit Rump while he\u2019s in Gainesville.\u00a0 Dorms don\u2019t allow pets.\u00a0 The average captive iguana can live for fifteen years, with proper care.\u00a0 Rump\u2019s only three.\u00a0 When Flint approached Nina about it\u2014he\u2019d pay her to take care of it\u2014she said, maybe.\u00a0 If you look at it from a certain angle Rump resembles a little prince.\u00a0 Nina has wondered how long she could force it to wear a purple, satin cape if she looped it around the neck.<\/p>\n

Now, standing in the heat-lamp light, Nina doesn\u2019t have time to consider the lizard.\u00a0 She has to stay focused on the plan and not wonder about the source of the stink in the room.\u00a0 It\u2019s like foreign cheese or perhaps goat milk.\u00a0 But, though; that\u2019s not the point.\u00a0 She\u2019s here to locate the selfie stick.\u00a0 To borrow<\/em> it, without asking, and return it before Flint realizes it\u2019s gone.<\/p>\n

The selfie stick is not next to the cluttered computer desk or leaning against a rickety faux-wood bookshelf.\u00a0 Dropping to her knees, Nina lifts the comforter and peers under the bed.\u00a0 No stick.\u00a0 There is a beach towel partially draped over a shoebox.\u00a0 Curious, she stretches her long arms and tugs the box to her.\u00a0 Inside, curled to conform to the shape of the container, is an array of Bazoombas<\/em> magazines.\u00a0 Unable to resist, Nina flips one open.\u00a0 The girls assume a number of unnatural poses as they stand near a variety of props: a blonde straddles a sawhorse, a patriotic brunette is clutching a pole and waving an American flag, a cheerleader is bending low to fetch her pom-poms.\u00a0 All of the women are healthily endowed up top and practically bare below.\u00a0 For the most part, their lipsticked mouths are puckered, glistening, and partly parted.\u00a0 Though she would like to thumb through a few more, to get some pointers, including the Exotic Erotic Island<\/em> edition, Nina is in a hurry.\u00a0 She crams the magazines back into the box.<\/p>\n

The selfie stick is in the closet next to an empty guitar stand.\u00a0 Retracted, it\u2019s the size of her forearm.\u00a0 She slides it beneath her shirt, along her spine, and tucks the handle into the back of her volleyball shorts.\u00a0 Then, quietly, she exits the room, slips into the bathroom, flushes the toilet\u2014for good measure\u2014and walks stiffly back into the living room.\u00a0 Amy is twirling her curly hair around her index finger and watching a video on her phone.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks,\u201d Nina says, grabbing her backpack.\u00a0 \u201cSee you tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

After dinner, dishes, homework, some computer time, and the Good Nights, Nina closes her bedroom door and slips beneath her sheets, still clothed.\u00a0 Her parents, like clockwork, will read in bed until ten and drift off by ten-thirty.\u00a0 Just to be on the safe side, Nina waits until eleven-thirty before climbing out of bed, opening her window, removing the screen, and crawling outside.\u00a0 Her room is right next to the air conditioner.\u00a0 It\u2019s whirring like an accomplice.\u00a0 When she\u2019s on the moist, tough, St. Augustine grass, she crouches low and scampers to the front of the house in her flip-flops.<\/p>\n

The beach is only a mile away.\u00a0 Nina hurries along the sidewalk.\u00a0 The night is quiet but for a few cars on A1A.\u00a0 This is the second time that she has snuck out.\u00a0 The first time, with Amy and a few of Flint\u2019s friends, they lit a bonfire, drank beer, and skinny-dipped.\u00a0 Well, Nina didn\u2019t get naked\u2014she stayed in her underwear\u2014but the boys did.\u00a0 One kid\u2019s bare ass was as pale as the moon.\u00a0 Jiggling and skimming beneath the surface of the water, tousling with his buddies, his butt looked like he was being chased by a flounder.\u00a0 She snickered and sucked down two grape-flavored wine coolers which she paid for in the morning.\u00a0 That was several months ago.<\/p>\n

Tonight, the moon is in the sky.\u00a0 The beach is empty.\u00a0 Sand stretches horizontally to a vanishing point.\u00a0 Lights from a Marriott a half-mile south appear swollen in the hazy, humidity-drenched air.\u00a0 The lighthouse guarding the Hillsborough inlet is a dizzy Cyclops.<\/p>\n

Nina wastes no time stripping down to nothing.\u00a0 She sets her clothes in a neat pile atop her flip-flops.\u00a0 The sand is still warm from the heat of the day.\u00a0 The breeze rolling off the ocean tamps down the sweat she accumulated on the walk here and momentarily prickles the flesh on her arms.\u00a0 She sets her phone to camera mode, clips it to the selfie stick, erects the pole, and loosens the tight bun on her head.\u00a0 Before getting into position, she arranges her hair in a net across her face.\u00a0 It\u2019s crucial that her identity is protected.\u00a0 The idea is to send Clay a photograph of a naked girl, not a nude picture of herself.\u00a0 Only the anonymous body matters.<\/p>\n

Nina props herself up on an elbow and gazes behind her.\u00a0 She can see the tiny craters where her feet made impact with the sand.\u00a0 Contorting her arm, she triggers a shot.\u00a0 Then another and another.\u00a0 She figures if she takes enough pictures there\u2019s bound to be something she can use.\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0The waves ceaselessly break in frothy phosphorescence.\u00a0 She rolls over, lifts her chin high, clicks away.\u00a0 Leans forward a bit then back, arches her legs; sort of somersaults.\u00a0 Does a push-up and a crunch.\u00a0 She dismisses the splits.\u00a0 Then she calls it quits.\u00a0 She wipes away sand before dressing.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s only when she\u2019s safely back in her room, wearing her favorite pajamas\u2014with the alternating pink and red hearts\u2014and under the protection of her covers that she dares to look at the pictures.\u00a0 The first photo\u2014delete\u2014has a glare.\u00a0 In the second shot\u2014delete\u2014she can see an animalistic red eye.\u00a0 In the third picture\u2014delete\u2014it looks like she\u2019s about to sneeze.\u00a0 She can\u2019t believe how obvious her macaroni-shaped birthmark appears on her knee.\u00a0 Delete.\u00a0 Her bellybutton\u2019s got a gallon of sand in it.\u00a0 Delete.\u00a0 When she\u2019s lifting into a backbend she resembles a wobbly-kneed giraffe calf trying to find its feet.\u00a0 Delete.\u00a0 In the last shot there\u2019s a green glow covering her two-by-four body and the glint reflecting off her teeth behind her scraggly hair makes her appear hungry.\u00a0 She looks more like an emaciated sea hag than a perky mermaid.\u00a0 Delete, delete, delete.<\/p>\n

Nina throws the phone across the room, repulsed.\u00a0 She\u2019s never hated herself as much as she does at this moment.\u00a0 The offending selfie stick propped against her dresser enrages.\u00a0 She has half-a-mind to leap from the bed and smash it over her knee.\u00a0 Or use it to bash out someone\u2019s brains.\u00a0 Or electrify it and shove it up Clay\u2019s ass.\u00a0 Wake him right up.<\/p>\n

These things, of course, she cannot do.\u00a0 She curls into a ball and cocoons beneath the floral-patterned sheets.\u00a0 She can\u2019t destroy Flint\u2019s selfie stick.\u00a0 It needs to be returned to that dank room with the stinky iguana and the never-made bed.\u00a0 Oh, and what\u2019s under the bed.\u00a0 Those far-fetched women.\u00a0 Missile-titted cartoons, really.\u00a0 If that\u2019s what boys want, fuck em.\u00a0 Swearing, even if it\u2019s only in her head, sort of helps.\u00a0 Rocking back and forth slightly calms.\u00a0 Nina begins to simmer.\u00a0 Heart rate returns to normal.\u00a0 Breathing evens.\u00a0 She wonders what Clay\u2019s thinking about.\u00a0 Boobs, probably.\u00a0 So easy to come by.\u00a0 Always right in front of her.<\/p>\n

Like everyone else, Nina has heard the advice about counting sheep as a means of falling asleep.\u00a0 So, she begins: one, two, three\u2026then she imagines a tiny version of herself jumping over the sheep as they approach\u2026four, five, six.\u00a0 The numbers rapidly advance.\u00a0 At two-hundred and thirty-nine, the sheep morph into clouds and instead of hurdling them the mini-Nina in her brain dives through.\u00a0 Cloud-by-cloud she leaps and counts; leaps and counts.\u00a0 Then, right where the fibers of a dream meet consciousness, Nina discovers Plan C.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When you groggily rise from bed early there\u2019s a part of you that stays slumbering behind.\u00a0 The millisecond-ago version of you perpetually hangs back.\u00a0 Just as the millisecond-from-now version impatiently waits to greet you. \u00a0We\u2019re elastic rubberpeople caroming off former and future simulations of ourselves.\u00a0 Now<\/em> is just a facsimile of the who we were\/will become.\u00a0 The wisest among us know we\u2019re better off staying in bed.<\/p>\n

Except for brief sorties home to refresh, Vivian has remained seated next to her son in the small hospital room ever since Clay slipped into his coma.\u00a0 Today marks one month.<\/p>\n

In the beginning, a wave of well-wishers sent sympathy cards and flowers.\u00a0 Viv\u2019s sister Lilly has visited twice.\u00a0 Clay\u2019s father comes every other week.\u00a0 He never stays long since he refuses to sit down and really detests looming over his boy trying to will him back to the land of the living.\u00a0 He enters the room, kisses Clay\u2019s furrowed brow, hovers with his back to his ex-wife, leaning on his heels, listens to the whoosh and tick of the ventilators, kisses him again on the forehead, whispers something private, and leaves.<\/p>\n

Viv nests in the navy blue chair with the anemic seat cushion.\u00a0 She\u2019s slight enough to contract her entire body so that it fits in the tired piece of furniture.\u00a0 She\u2019s brought a baby blanket her mother\u2014Clay\u2019s deceased grandmother\u2014crocheted which she huddles beneath.\u00a0 Her unkempt cabernet-colored hair has been swept into a punishing pony tail.\u00a0 The hair is so tight it forces her eyes into unblinking walnut-colored slits.\u00a0 Her vision is ever-so-slightly blurry.\u00a0 From her hunched vantage, beneath the only window in the room (which overlooks a sun-bedazzling parking lot), she can see the starboard side of the bed which features the mostly-unblemished portion of Clay\u2019s face.\u00a0 Each week doctors remove a little more of his bandages.\u00a0 He\u2019s gradually transitioning from mummy back to boy.<\/p>\n

The flowers from a bouquet sitting upon the nightstand are in various stages of decay.\u00a0 The principal of Pompano High School sent a sizeable glass vase brimming with lilacs, violets, and forget-me-nots.\u00a0 A number of students signed the \u201cGet Well Soon,\u201d card.\u00a0 Stench from the old water clogged with putrefying dead heads rises into the air conditioning zephyrs.\u00a0 The sweetly-briny scent blows over the boy at exact intervals (every forty-five minutes) and for precisely the same amount of time (eight minutes).\u00a0 It\u2019s always seventy-two degrees in the hospital.\u00a0 When Clay inhales the scent into his perfectly-functioning nasal cavities the good old olfactory gives a swift kick to the hypothalamus which triggers the quasi-memory\/invention of a \u201cshadowself<\/em>\u201d or imaginary friend-of-sorts; an evolutionary micro-ego pinched in the saline of the brain.\u00a0 It\u2019s an echo still reverberating from our single-cell Squirming-From-Primordial-Ooze Days.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood afternoon, Ms. Crenshaw,\u201d Nurse Goldwin says, entering the hospital room.\u00a0 \u201cAnd how are we today?\u201d\u00a0 Two of Nurse Goldwin\u2019s greatest features are her top front teeth.\u00a0 They are whiter than bleached bone.\u00a0 For this reason, she almost always smiles.\u00a0 And she keeps her face super-tan to enhance the contrast.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m good,\u201d Viv says, moving from a fetal to an upright position in the chair.\u00a0 She absent-mindedly folds the baby blanket.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour boy got mail!\u201d Goldwin sing-songs.\u00a0 She holds a greeting-card-sized envelope up just beneath her chin so that it\u2019s impossible to avoid those brilliant chompers.\u00a0 \u201cWant me to set it on the nightstand?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u00a0 I\u2019ll take it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere isn\u2019t a return address.\u00a0 And there\u2019s a note on the back which reads, For Clay Crenshaw\u2019s eyes only<\/em>.\u00a0 Isn\u2019t that strange?\u00a0 Maybe your boy has a secret ad-mi-r-er!\u201d\u00a0 The nurse does a little shimmy-shake holding the envelope and wagging her head to-and-fro.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks,\u201d Viv says when the nurse finally hands it over.\u00a0 She sets the envelope in her lap and contemplates slinking back into the chair.\u00a0 The position isn\u2019t comfortable and Viv likes it that way.\u00a0 She\u2019s not here to sleep.\u00a0 Scrunched and covered her lower back aches, the wooden arms of the chair leave unsightly indentions in her calves, her shoulder blades bend, and a cinched nerve in her neck gives her a perpetual low-grade headache.\u00a0 Since she cannot risk curling up and spooning Clay\u2014she\u2019s been reprimanded for doing this and warned about the dangers of tangling ventilation tubes\u2014all that\u2019s really left to do is linger in mild discomfort nearby.\u00a0 To wait.\u00a0 Then wait.\u00a0 Wait.<\/p>\n

\u201cAren\u2019t you going to open that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe card.\u00a0 You\u2019re not going to wait until he opens his eyes, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u00a0 I\u2019m not.\u00a0 Going to wait, I mean.\u201d\u00a0 Viv tears the top of the envelope with fingernails flecked with maroon polish.\u00a0 Inside is a white, off-brand greeting card with the words I\u2019m Sorry<\/em> scripted in a carefree font meant to communicate a breezy, light, Hey, it\u2019s not so hard to forgive, is it?<\/em> style.\u00a0 When Viv opens the card, a folded piece of something drops into her lap.\u00a0 Before investigating, she reads the hand-written note neatly penned in black ink on the inside of the flap: Is this what you\u2019re looking for?<\/em>\u00a0 The card is unsigned.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is that?\u201d Goldwin asks.<\/p>\n

The magazine page in Viv\u2019s lap has been folded four times.\u00a0 Each time she unfolds a flap the photograph of the naked woman becomes more complete, until, finally, both Viv and Goldwin\u2014who has sidled next to the chair\u2014can see the improbably-chested and dark-haired model propped upon an elbow inside an enormous, open clam.\u00a0 The picture is ripped along the edges as if torn hastily out of a nudie magazine which resides under the bed of a high school senior with a sickly iguana by a young girl surreptitiously returning a selfie stick and resorting to Plan C: send Clay a nude shot from the Exotic Erotic Island<\/em> issue of \u00a0Bazoombas<\/em> magazine.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs this some kind of prank?\u201d Goldwin asks sealing her lips in disapproval.<\/p>\n

Viv isn\u2019t sure.\u00a0 It might be.\u00a0 Or maybe not.\u00a0 Her mind is mired in a grief-stricken molasses.\u00a0 Since it\u2019s difficult to blink, she stares at the picture.<\/p>\n

The woman in the photograph has gray-green eyes the exact shade of the cloudless sky.\u00a0 There\u2019s a placid sea in the background.\u00a0 Around her neck is a gaudy string of pearls.\u00a0 Though it\u2019s impossible to tell from the photo, this is the first time that Mindy, the model, has been to Greece and the first time she has posed inside an enormous clam.\u00a0 The photographer wanted to pay homage to Botticelli\u2019s The Birth of Venus<\/em>.\u00a0 The shell is made of a hard plastic and hurts the elbow upon which Mindy is leaning.\u00a0 She is battling back the pain, sucking in her stomach, and attempting to keep her lips lifted slightly in a way that resembles Venus, in the painting.\u00a0 The photographer, who majored in Art History, kept insisting that her mouth must appear as if she is hiding a secret from the on-looker.\u00a0 \u201cDon\u2019t you have any secrets?\u201d he\u2019d asked.\u00a0 Though she did, she couldn\u2019t figure out how her face was supposed to suggest them.\u00a0 They called it quits after two hours and went with a shot that, according to the photographer, makes Mindy seem distressed.\u00a0 Not that it much matters.\u00a0 Most people who subscribe to Bazoombas<\/em> don\u2019t do so for the artistic allusions.\u00a0 They don\u2019t spend a lot of time gawking at faces.\u00a0 Instead, eyes dart to the bountiful chest, the curve of hips, and the mile-long sculpted legs.\u00a0 Viv, though, traces the landscape of the body to Mindy\u2019s feet.\u00a0 When she is not posing as a Greek goddess upon the tar-spotted sandy shoreline of the Mediterranean Sea, Mindy is a waitress at a seafood restaurant in Toledo, Ohio.\u00a0 She\u2019s been scuttling from the kitchen to the tables in pumps for years, since she was fourteen.\u00a0 As a result, she has bunions.\u00a0 Squeezing into heels is torture.\u00a0 And though this isn\u2019t a characteristic she knows she possesses, when she situates one foot atop the other, in profile, the jut from the protruding bone at the base of the big toes creates a space between her feet in the shape of an elongated heart.\u00a0 It\u2019s there, in the photograph.\u00a0 Viv spots it right away and thinks, How curious<\/em>.\u00a0 This is the first thought she has had in the last month that didn\u2019t revolve around Clay.<\/p>\n

The flame-orange painted tips of the model\u2019s toenails are angling towards the sea.\u00a0 In fact, Mindy\u2019s entire body is sort of shaped like an arrow.\u00a0 She is a needle within the compass of the clam.\u00a0 Though this, too, is impossible to know since it\u2019s not in the photo, she is pointing the viewer toward a great mystery.\u00a0 She is unwittingly directing you to a fantastic treasure beyond the limitations of the glossy page.\u00a0 All you have to do is walk in a straight line from those posed toes.\u00a0 Crunch the sand and wade into the bathwater-warm shallows.\u00a0 Then swim.\u00a0 Breaststroke for two miles.\u00a0 You can do it.\u00a0 Never mind the waves.\u00a0 All right.\u00a0 Now stop.\u00a0 Catch your breath.\u00a0 Doggy paddle.\u00a0 Inhale.\u00a0 Take in a boatload of oxygen.\u00a0 Then, ready or not, dive.\u00a0 Swim straight down.\u00a0 Further.\u00a0 Deeper.\u00a0 Keep eyes peeled.\u00a0 See that faint light?\u00a0 The eerie blue glow?\u00a0 Good.\u00a0 Hang there, suspended in the water, cheeks puffed, hair rising.\u00a0 Look at what you\u2019ve found.<\/p>\n

The dark water resembles the night sky and bursting from the gloom appears a galaxy.\u00a0 In front of you a wash of countless stars swirl around a bright epicenter.\u00a0 Get closer.\u00a0 What you\u2019ve discovered is alive.\u00a0 Not a star, an animal. \u00a0The corkscrew of celestial neon pin-pricks are actually luminescent tendrils trailing a translucent orb.\u00a0 It\u2019s turritopsis dohrnii<\/em>.\u00a0 The immortal jellyfish.\u00a0 Its bioluminescence creates light to attract prey.\u00a0 Scientists call this jellyfish immortal because it doesn\u2019t appear to die.\u00a0 Its cells don\u2019t age, they regenerate.\u00a0 They transdifferentiate.\u00a0 The jellyfish essentially recycles itself, morphing from an immature polyp to an adult then back to the polyp and so on and so forth forever and ever.\u00a0 Don\u2019t ask how.\u00a0 The answer will give you the bends.\u00a0 Just squint at it.\u00a0 The spectral radiance reminds you of a ghost. The hypnotic undulation is moving in rhythm to your pulse.\u00a0 See the red-bloom inside the bell-shaped gelatinous body?\u00a0 Though it looks like a heart, it\u2019s the stomach.\u00a0 Though you want to reach in and grab the vibrating mass, return to shore, and thrust it into the space left by the model\u2019s feet\u2014you\u2019re sure it\u2019s a perfect match\u2014resist the urge.\u00a0 Just because it\u2019s immortal doesn\u2019t mean it can\u2019t die.<\/p>\n

Besides, you don\u2019t have the luxury of time.\u00a0 You have to make a decision: rise to the surface or sink into the unfathomable lurking dark.\u00a0 It\u2019s up to you.\u00a0 We\u2019re all waiting.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Shored up with what he believes to be sound intelligence, Clay mounts his metallic-blue ten-speed, punches the code\u20141234\u2014into the keypad and coasts down the drive.\u00a0 The garage door makes an agonizing clamor upon its descent and for this reason Clay frantically pedals away from his home.\u00a0 Those gears are in desperate need of a good […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":13687,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13625","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-jason-ockert"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13625","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13625"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13625\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13701,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13625\/revisions\/13701"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/13687"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13625"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13625"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13625"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}