By Some Act of Mortal Divinity
by Bethany Cutkomp
Those tug-o-war strings keeping Sean teetering at the coastline are wearing thin. His childhood home is now a carcass, picked clean in cardboard boxes and digested by the family Subaru, save for one empty spot in the back seat. The only thing keeping him from immersing himself in froth-lipped folds of ocean is the rip tide, capable of yanking him out of society’s reach, but what does it mean if dry land wishes to whisk him away just the same?
The Subaru waits for him in the parking lot as Sean makes his way down to pay the shore one final visit. Straddling the beach trail are marram grass dunes that ripple and graze his arm hair. The weathered pier, stained with algae slime, greets the familiar cadence of his stride with measured creaks. Below, where the land and sea overlap, layers of rocks consume the fizzy surf in slurps.
Surely the Midwest doesn’t offer a natural symphony half as evocative. What’s even out there? Tractor sputters? Livestock bleats? Sean’s friends claim there are billboards out that way displaying ludicrous phrases like SHACKLED BY LUST? JESUS SAVES - CALL HERE FOR TRUTH and ADULT BOUTIQUE - NEXT EXIT. Not only that, but there are gun shows, cow tipping, and demolition derbies. Truth is, Sean never sees himself calling such a place home, even if he must change his mailing address to say otherwise.
What if he stays, if the sea fog swallows him whole and he vanishes without a trace?
Tucking his Vans under the pier, Sean plays sanderling with the tide, a chase and dodge game he made up as a kid. Tendrils of mist curl around his wrists, his ankles. Surrendering, he steps in, letting the water devour him up to his knees, then his waist. His shorts will be soaked the whole drive east. Fantastic. Curling his toes into damp grit, Sean hesitates treading further.
His friends didn’t even say goodbye to him. No awkward hugs, no heartfelt promises. Not even a single farewell text. Did he really mean that little to them?
At least Miss Howard, his favorite teacher and family friend, saw him off with well wishes, promising a fortunate future to come. Turns out, she was raised not far from where he’s moving, and still has family living in the area—a great selling point to Sean’s parents.
The community is tight like no other, Miss Howard promised on his last day of school. You will find your people.
Sean fidgeted with his lanyard, a futile loop of polyester at that point. If that’s the case, why did you leave?
Ah, well… His homeroom teacher blanched. My mother is a diver. I moved out here to be closer to her. That’s all.
That’s all. Sure. Sean braves the cold shock and dunks his whole head under. The plunge plugs his ears, emphasizing only the swish of his own movements. It’s pleasant. This is the only life he’s ever known. If he lingers long enough, perhaps the sea will claim him as its own. What midwestern saltwater will quench his skin but his own sweat and tears to come? Stepping into the unfamiliar will only parch him with what ifs, leaving him thirsting for a timeline he is being stripped of to start fresh.
It doesn’t seem like long when Sean surfaces, but he finds that the water has carried him a distance. Choppy waves rock him in all directions. What was it that his parents taught him about rip tides? Don’t fight it. Swim parallel. Where should he orient himself when two gravitational forces act against one another? Forward. Backward. Stay. Leave. All logic leaks out of Sean’s ears when a honk from the parking lot, presumably belonging to his family’s Subaru, startles him forward with a splash.
And just like that, some opposing force to the sea peels him away.
The world blurs in reverse: ocean, sand, pavement, and car upholstery. Suddenly the ocean is gone, replaced with a back seat crammed with cardboard boxes. Sean twists toward the rear window, gasping at a familiar figure emerging from the surf.Â
That’s him, gaping back at himself.
Wait. Wait, wait, he wants to yell, but no larynx is present to support his pleas.
Lurching for the handle, invisible fingers pass through the door. His parents don’t bat an eye at this newfound transparency of his. Dragged from the coastline and into woodlands, pastures, and cornfields, Sean has to believe those HELL IS REAL billboards whizzing past, because he may have just left behind his body, taking only his soul with him.
Bethany Cutkomp is a writer from St. Louis, Missouri. She enjoys catching chaotic vibes and bees with her bare hands. Her work appears in HAD, trampset, Ghost Parachute, Exposed Bone, Fictive Dream, and more. Find her on social media at @bdcutkomp.
