Page 17 of The Call of Azure (Unexpected Love #3)
Gabriel
The aquatic center always feels like magic to me.
I’m not really sure why. I didn’t spend my childhood weekends on trips to the beach or theme parks or renaissance festivals, so it’s not like it feels sentimental or anything.
There is nothing overly dramatic or complex or breathtaking about the center’s layout or décor that makes it more superficially appealing than other similar venues.
It’s clean and comfortable, just like most theme parks and aquariums and museums are.
The long, thin tunnels that snake around the center’s exterior exhibit for the merfolk performers are the only things that aren’t educational displays or simple tanks meant to mimic natural conditions filled with fish and other aquatic creatures.
There aren’t rides or collections of snack shacks with exotic and creative menus.
There aren’t employees in costumes or arcade rooms filled with interactive games.
It’s really just a collection of basic buildings that house the more sensitive critters in residence, connected by outdoor pathways and a handful of large exterior tanks.
On rainy days, there isn’t even a way to visit without getting sprinkled on while darting from space to space - which isn’t really my favorite thing.
I’m not really a big outdoors person. Oh, I love a good, long, lazy afternoon with the scent of coconut sunscreen and slightly crispy skin filling my sinuses as I lie out on a poolside lounge chair with a margarita or two.
I’ve even been known to appreciate well…
basically the same thing on a boat or the edge of a beach where my fingers can lazily brush through the sand beside my chair.
It’s not like there are a lot of opportunities for that around here though.
The few brilliantly sunny weeks we get each summer always feel depressingly short, and only a handful of stray days are hot enough to spend hours frightening other local beach goers with my man thongs.
For the most part, our beaches are cool and dreary in a beautifully melancholy sort of way, even on days when the sky is so blue it’s almost blinding to look at.
The sand is grey, and the shorelines are covered with rocky outcroppings and piled-up driftwood and timbers that have slowly rolled their way down thickly wooded cliffs or escaped logging ships and floated along until they found a peaceful resting place under the watchful gaze of decommissioned lighthouses, tourists looking for shells and sea glass, and dogs chasing sandpipers and gulls.
Even though I’m not one for surfing or sailing or hiking along seaside cliffs, I’ve always found the ocean to be one of life’s most intriguing mysteries.
For days on end, its surface is nothing but shimmering indigo and azure and gold as birds peacefully drift on the surf without a care.
It’s so easy to believe that it will stay that way forever in those moments, so easy to forget that in the space of a single breath, it can shift to angry, agitated, turbulent steel and silver that erases any hint of the tranquility that previously stretched as far as the eye could see.
The drama and violence of a furious sea is its own kind of beauty, of course, but something in me can’t seem to appreciate that type of ocean in the way some people can.
Maybe because it’s hard to remember when staring into the face of something that can so easily engulf and destroy without a second thought, that the ferocity is only temporary, and only the smallest part of the whole.
The surface is merely a tiny glimpse - one singular facet of something whose depths are nearly unfathomable.
It’s wild and uncharted, and thinking about the amazing assortment of life that thrives below the surface feels like pulling back the curtain to another world.
I think the aquatic center feels magical to me because of the creatures that call it home.
The depths of the sea are like nowhere else in the universe.
There is pressure and darkness, translucent skin, and sharp teeth.
The creatures that call the center home don’t hail from depths quite so murky and foreign, but rather, they are those who flit just under the surface, where the sun’s bright rays still cast shadows through seaweed and coral, and the currents they swirl through are still affected by the tides and the storms that sometimes rage just overhead.
They’re remarkable and breathtaking in the way they dart between rocks and drift along with the tiniest fin flicks to direct their movements.
They are unique and bright and more than just a little out of place above the waves.
I feel like them sometimes. Like I’m on display even when I’m not performing.
Like those who walk past me slow down to study me as they try to decide if I’m a threat or an amusement.
I wonder sometimes how the critters swimming next to plaques that describe their coloring and feeding preferences and natural habitats feel about their new homes.
I know that the center only keeps those that can’t be rehabilitated and safely released back into the wild, and they’re well-fed and cared for, so it’s not like they’re capturing wild creatures simply for the enjoyment of humans.
Still, I know what it feels like to live in a crystal box.
I think people tend to view me the same way I view the ocean.
They see my straight nose and high cheekbones, my strong shoulders and narrow waist, my flashy jewelry and vibrant clothes.
They hear my laughter and revel in joy and freedom with me at clubs and parties, but rarely do they get glimpses of what lies underneath.
I suppose it’s not quite the same way I view the ocean.
After all, while I find learning about what’s under the surface intriguing, folks rarely look deep enough to see what's really under my surface. Maybe it shouldn’t bother me.
Maybe the desire to keep things simple and easy is just human nature.
After all, I prefer the ocean when she’s wearing her soft blues and glittering golds that let me believe she somehow offers nothing but endless serenity and wonder.
Sometimes, clinging to a fantasy is easier than dealing with the complexity that comes with living in a less-than-magical reality.
My fingers trail along the edge of a wall made of reinforced plexiglass as I watch rays and silver dollars and rainbow fish drift through their shared home on my way to the manager’s office.
Even though I can’t touch them, and I don’t know if they even care that I exist, their beauty and wonder lend me just a bit more strength and inspiration as I psych myself up to make my pitch.
I’m in a hard plastic chair in what passes for the center’s administrative office’s waiting room for less than five minutes before the sound of my name startles me away from rehearsing my speech in my head for the thousandth time.
“Mr. Vega?”
I offer my most stunning, gracious smile as I stand and brush my hand down my chest, half to smooth out any wrinkles and half simply to draw attention.
I’ve never been one to ignore my gifts if I think they can give me a leg up.
My looks happen to be one of the things people love about me, so I might as well take advantage of that in small ways when I can.
It’s not like I ever use my powers for evil or anything.
Okay, fine, maybe it’s evil to flirt with the good folks at the ice cream shop near my apartment to get free toppings now and again, but I like coconut and brownie bites, and I spend way too much money there as it is.
While I never doubt my unique and creative fashion choices, the way the manager, Emma’s gaze follows my hand down the center of my classic black vest and continues along the tailored lines of my slacks, even after my hand stops at my waist, is proof that I made the right call.
I’ve intentionally cultivated a look that says, “While I’m the epitome of a handsome, elegant, artistic professional arriving for a business meeting, I’m still a bit playful and eclectic.
” Her gaze doesn’t linger below my belt for long before stuttering back up and stumbling out across the tight, rolled-up sleeves of my dress shirt that expose my forearms and just a few more bracelets than normal.
When she realizes what she’s just done, a blush spreads across her cheeks, and her eyes dart to mine with an embarrassed and apologetic smile.
I should maybe feel just a little bad about it since I did my best to cultivate that exact response, but I’ve found that a hint of playfulness or embarrassment can help shift an interaction from stilted and overly professional to something a bit more open and connective, and I really want her to consider my offer.
Fine, maybe I do use my powers for evil.
Once she shakes herself out of it and recovers from her momentary lapse, she settles into her role as the aquatic center’s director like she was born for it, which I have to admit is a bit of a surprise.
She’s younger than I expected - a bright, bubbly woman, perhaps in her late twenties, with a tight, high ponytail, dressed in khakis and a polo bearing the center’s logo.
She looks almost like an intern or undergrad student, but it only takes a few sentences before I realize just how deceiving her appearance is.
She’s attentive and professional as I make my pitch, asking thoughtful questions about logistics and choreography and my experience with performing in front of crowds and at unique venues.
I’m so impressed by her that I find myself wanting to make this work even more than I did before our meeting.
I want the chance to show her what I’m capable of, and to hopefully bring in a bit of an audience and some money for the center.