Mermaid Queen

I’ve never really celebrated Halloween. Because my mother was an Evangelical Christian and so it was considered a holiday for Satan. I never took it on, so instead of candy, I filled myself up with judgment and stories about how I’d probably feel left out, and wouldn't know what to wear. I told myself it wouldn’t even be fun, so why bother, and that the people enjoying Halloween simply weren’t my people.

Despite my doubts, the group I live with had its own momentum, which made going with the flow far easier than saying ‘No.” And when not one but two of my housemates offered me costumes to wear, well, it was enough to disrupt my story about not belonging. So, I went as a mermaid. 

It wasn’t a stretch. As a total water baby and ex-Olympic synchro swimmer my choice, neither creative nor explorative was basic and what you might call predictable. Yet, from inside my aquatic ensemble, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to be social. At the first party of the night, I just feel like an alien. Standing around in our costumes, small talk seems ridiculous. I mostly sit there, looking around. At the second party it’s even worse, and I find myself looking for external cues to discern what’s appropriate and how I should be. How does a mermaid mingle? It’s confronting to see the extent of my reliance on others for approval.

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I spot the edge of the pool in the distance, it’s roped-off and perhaps because of this it draws my attention. Maybe because of the costumes, we all feel a bit dislocated, something else can happen. So, inhibitions down, our group crawls under the ropes but are quickly redirected by security. Luckily, my friend charms a man staying at the hotel and that seems to be enough to satisfy the guard. I inch closer to the water.

As I get to the edge of the pool, I forget to worry about how I’m supposed to act and just slip in. The water is unbelievably refreshing and feels cool on my skin, my scales, and my Picesan bent. I float on my back looking up at the full moon, it’s surrounded by a moonbow with a smattering of clouds against the night sky. And the dance takes over, my dance, running through my veins, directing my aqueous limbs; it isn’t me moving the water, there is no me, just the water moving and I am a part of it. It’s been 6 months since I’ve had this feeling.

Eventually, I climb out of the pool, wring out my hair and find my land legs. Soaking wet, I drip everywhere and on everything.

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For our next adventure, it’s suggested that we “go to this party that has dancing but is in the worst part of town.” For whatever reason, this seems like one of those moments where you have to go with your intuition. And so we do just that.

This place seems totally abandoned and yet totally alive. Lined with shops shuttered during COVID and rents too high for most local businesses, it’s also well lit and colors of paint and graffiti adorn almost every surface. Large art pieces loom, including an astronaut that’s at least 40 feet tall. The Gen Zers have taken over this place, recreated it, made it their own, their home, their dystopian future. 

As I take in this Orwellian landscape, I simmer with rage. How could our predecessors have covered this once fecund land with cement and buildings, only to leave it to crumble? How could they have left us, their children, this mess? Their unconsciousness tastes metallic on my tongue, and yet I also detect the strong, sweet flavor of hope.

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I step into what was a church that’s now being used as an EDM dance hall. Still dressed as a mermaid, I slink into the crowd, and disappear. Perhaps there’s something to this Halloween thing. Instead of showing up “as ourselves”, we are invited to embody a character and choose how we and who we are for a night. I know this party isn’t THAT big, I cannot actually get lost, so I surrender and leave what I know behind, leave Ali as the answer and let identity be a question.

One of our group had dressed another and brought him on a shibari rope harness leash as her slave. Witnessing this, I feel both jealous and impressed. Of course, jealousy is just a mask for one’s own desire. And I have struggled of late to embody my own longing to live so deeply in my own feminine that that energy alone would inspire servitude from another. 

As I come out of thought, I run into someone I know,  and unprompted he starts attending to me, giving me massage. He invites me to sit down and  receive. I’m in awe of how quickly my dreams are coming true and simultaneously embarrassed and resistant to own them. We walk through the crowd, his hand high, palm facing up, as if I were leading him on a tether. Role play comes easily to him, and he says, “Are you the queen leading me through the town square  amongst your loyal subjects?”

My confidence grows. I take charge, dragging him from his plan into mine. I sit him above me and I sink into his care. He rubs my upper back with devotion. I trust him. I feel his consent. He’s an adult who can own his yes and no. For the first time tonight, I forget to seek the approval of everyone around me before acting. I just meet the moment with my desire. 

And just like that, the sky opens. Rain pours. No problem, I’ve already been soaking wet once tonight. The deluge of water makes my subject grow rowdy. As does my desire to dominate. I command him to his knees and slap him with his wet T-shirt. He begs for more. My slaps get harder. I close in on his face. Bystanders start to gather, one suggests stuffing the shirt in his mouth. For a moment I am in complete control. I am power itself. One with my desire, there is no shadow in this place. I am burning like a flame in the ocean. 

Attracted by the noise, my friends join us and the scene breaks. And I taste what I had wanted in the back of my throat. The salty wet triumph of the mermaid queen.

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