"Sink or Swim" - Why We Sometimes Stay on the Shores of our Existence

Mariposa dug the heels of her feet into the sand. She was sitting on her jacket which meant her arms were exposed. But, this did not matter as she liked the feeling of salt brushing by on her skin and into her hair. She would wake up the next morning with waves in her hair unironically curated by the waves. Her back hunched over, she traced depictions of the stars and the moon in the sand with a stick. She straightened her posture, leaned back with her palms behind her, and stared up at the actual stars and the moon. The sound of the sea crashed within and out of her subconscious - a mere soundtrack to the crisp thoughts being birthed in her head. This is her favorite spot. She felt safe. She felt lonely.

To be truthful, Mariposa began isolating herself long before it was mandated to do so. It was about the same time she stopped trusting herself. She began trusting things instead. Like plants. She always trusted those. They were simple to her and she enjoyed that. The succulents and the occasional bouquet of sunflowers in her room brought an overwhelming sense of control. She could wake up, water her plants, and they would be alive and still, not causing her any relative issues. She also trusts flames. But only sometimes. She trusts flames she can control. Like that of a candle or the gas stove used to scramble her eggs in the morning. She has little trust for fire places though, as pine makes her nose itch. She trusts salt water, like that of the ocean, but does not trust lakes. Lakes sometimes dry out. The ocean never does. She trusts her favorite hoodie, the one she is wearing right now. Oversized and purple, two unordinary factors that secure her to herself. If it was not on her body, it was on her bed.

Mariposa does not in fact trust Hurley, her cat. Hurley does as he pleases. He pushes open her doors and scratches her walls. Some nights he sleeps in her bed, other nights he sleeps elsewhere. He brings strange creatures into her room and he himself is a strange creature. Gale coined Hurley as the most “gentle beast.” This made her trust Hurley even less. Furtherly, Mariposa does not trust photos. However, she does trust videos. Photos are too exact, too personal. Life moves too fast to capture it in a fragment of its appearance. Videos fill up her phone. Although, she does not trust her phone and most of the people on it.

Most certainly, Mariposa does not trust herself. Her therapist said drugs could help with this. Mariposa trusts the drugs but does not trust herself around them. There is a drug for almost everything. If she wants to be happy, if she wants to feel no pain, if she wants energy. There is a pill for it all. If she wants to feel serene she can call up her provider. Balance is a variable easily affected and maintained by drugs. She can trust that. But then again, she cannot trust herself.

Mariposa lays flat on the sand and rolls over on her side into a fetal position. It seemed like a nice thought in her mind. Her arm over her eyebrow, she gazes lazily into the sea and its infinite monotony.

She trusts this spot. It is linked to the most nostalgia driven parts of her life. A small little beach to the right of the pier. One has to climb down a hill of rocks to reach the sand. It is fun in the midst of midnight spirits and joyous gatherings and nearly fatal when crawling drunkenly back up to the street. This sport reminds her of “juke jams.” Her, Gale, and random assortments of friends would spend hours where she lays still now. Guitars and ukuleles were brought down along with water bottles filled with unearthly concoctions. She would arrive home after gatherings at the spot smelling like salt, ash, and marijuana. The aroma of all combined sank her softly into her bedding.

Mariposa remembers less frequently the memories made at the spot. She can vividly recall every single individual she has shared the spot with instead.

Gale told Mariposa that she likes girls in this spot. Mariposa told Gale her name was the spanish word for butterfly. Gale kissed Mariposa, completely sober. No moment was more sober than that one. Two years later, the night after high school graduation, Gale hugged Mariposa and told her she was going across the country to Boston for college. Gale decided she was not going to like girls in college. Mariposa realized that she was only a phase to Gale. Gale got a tattoo of a butterfly on her wrist the next day. Mariposa knew she would always be a part of her. As much as she hates to admit it, Mariposa still trusts Gale.

All of the people who had spent time with her at this spot are long gone now. It is a year after graduation. Mariposa did not get into any of the universities she would actually attend, she stayed home while working and going to community college. She told herself that was fine. But her social media said otherwise. She told herself she was saving money. But she always thought there was something more she could have done. She knows she is fine. She just misses when the future was not there yet. She misses coming to the spot with people rather than by herself. They text her sometimes. She takes too long to respond. She feels sometimes as if she is living an unfulfilling life. She was alone that Fall all through Winter and is alone now in the Spring. At least everyone is alone now. She feels comfort in her indifference.

Mariposa rolls over on her side and flashes her phone open. It is empty of notifications with a picture of Italy as the background, she wishes it were a video. Mariposa likes to dream. The time reads 1:32 A.M.. She knows she is far past the mandated curfew. She can care less. She sits up straight and kicks her chucks off her feet. She rolls up her jeans and strips her socks leaving them behind in the sand. She walks forward into the water. Then she runs.

The sea meets her softly compared to her fervent glides. She forgets her jeans and they are drenched instantly. She crouches down and her purple hoodie is soaked. She feels the salt water on her face and it stings her eyes. The wet sand is malleable between her toes as she squirms in the cold. After a few seconds her body becomes accustomed to the low temperatures. And she screams. And no one will hear her.

Mariposa kicks the water and throws herself in different directions, swaying uncontrollably with the waves. How could I have not done better? How can I let myself be this way? How can I have more control over myself? How? How? HOW?!! Where did I go wrong? So so so wrong? But I haven’t done nothing! And it is just that! How can I just do nothing? And be nothing?

In the water Mariposa is not stuck. She is carried and comforted by the arms of a beast more gentle and undecided than Hurley. She is cold and she for a mere second feels warmed as if someone is hugging her from behind. She realizes that this is her own arms cradling her chest. She felt tired of not asking questions and expecting answers to just show up. She felt tired of being tired and the cynical toll that ran through her mind.

Mariposa looks directly up into the darkness of the sky. I just want to be something.

Tired of screaming at the moon, Mariposa collapses back on the sand next to her shoes. She opens up her phone and texts someone for the first time in months.

Do you trust me?

Gale responds within seconds. Yes.

Why?