This piece was originally written for a student-led zine at Duke University's Nicholas School of the Environment entitled "Entanglement". I never heard back from the student who was publishing the zine, but I thought I'd share the piece here.
# # # Marina burst awake, drenched in sweat, salty fresh from the sea. The sun hadn’t quite decided to rise, yet sleep was already just an aftertaste. Her lungs strained, hungry for the sweet stale air of her bedroom. Her soul, too, ached. Quickly, before her dream dissolved, she scribbled a few details in her bedside journal: Icy water, whose chill doesn’t quite reach me. Endless dark below, but millions of silvery scales flicker in the sunlight above. She took a deep breath, then added: Again, the choking loneliness swallows me whole. I want to sink into the black and never resurface. I almost do. Marina snapped the notebook shut and tried to shake off her dream’s clammy grasp. Failing that, she swept her feet from under her duvet and into a pair of pink bunny slippers. Rita had always teased her for wearing them, but they were her last gift from her mother, their worn ears an indescribable comfort. She padded over to the bathroom. Normally, Marina was a strict evening-shower kind of woman, but she twisted the tap anyway, hoping to wash away the chill touch of the sea. Night sweats – or was it Neptune’s lingering touch? – had left her body rimed in salt. As her shower whined up to temperature, Marina gazed at the puffy-eyed, brined zombie in her bathroom mirror. The entanglement procedure was supposed to lead her to happiness, but what had it gotten her so far? “Nightmares and overactive sweat glands—what a bargain!” she muttered, then traced a frowning face in the quickly fogging glass. Soon, both her disturbing dreams and her haunted reflection were lost in the steam of a much-needed shower. # # # “I don’t understand. It didn’t work?” Cathy crunched her way through the cantina’s Taco Tuesday fare, shredded lettuce trickling onto her plate. Marina shook her head. “No, I think it worked. I just don’t know what to do. I mean, every single dream is underwater. What does she even do for a living?” “Maybe she’s a mermaid,” Cathy teased. “Cath, be serious. We’re talking about my true love—I need real suggestions.” “I am being serious! Okay, okay, so maybe not a mermaid, but haven’t you heard about those badass female pearl divers in Japan?” She took another bite. “Their whole job is underwater; plus, with the time difference, I bet she’d be working while you’re asleep.” Marina hummed uncertainly. “It’s a possibility. But how am I supposed to find her if I don’t have any real clues? Figures that even with magic soulmate-finding technology, I still manage to screw things up.” Marina rested her forehead on the cool tabletop, hopelessness creeping under her skin. Thirty-seven and still single. What was she doing with her life? “None of that self-pity nonsense, Mare,” Cathy said, shaking her friend’s shoulder lightly. Marina looked up. “She’s out there, somewhere. You love puzzles anyway; it’s just a matter of searching. And hey, I promise,” Cathy gave Marina’s shoulder a squeeze. “This won’t end up like Rita. This is the real deal. ‘Or your money back.’” She winked. Marina couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re right. I’ve got to keep trying.” # # # “Welcome to QuantAnima. Are you a returning customer, or is this your first appointment with us?” The cheery receptionist barely paused in her typing. An old television in the corner blared breaking news about floods unhousing millions in Houston again; then, a segment about the Atlantic’s last right whale making her solo voyage to the coast of Maine, chasing tiny prey that dwindled in the warming waters. Marina couldn’t hide a flash of anger. We had decades to fix this problem, and we wasted them. And here I am worrying about my love life. She knew she was being unfair to herself, but the thought still stung. The world was broken, she was broken, and what was she doing? Peeling her thighs off a cheap plastic chair in pursuit of… what, exactly? Loud promotional posters with googly-eyed lovers promised her lifelong happiness; bright pink pamphlets claimed to Find your soulmate!!!! Meanwhile, the half-dozen other people in the waiting area hunched over their phones in a clear “don’t talk to me” posture. The whole place was tacky as hell. Still, as much as Marina cringed at her resemblance to the lovelorn characters in their ads, QuantAnima got results. Usually. “Returning.” Marina approached the reception desk. “Oh. Great! When was your procedure, sweetheart?” “Four weeks ago.” Marina fidgeted and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I need help figuring things out—these dreams are more like nightmares.” It was somehow embarrassing to admit she couldn’t do it on her own. The receptionist nodded sagely. “You’re not alone, sugar, I promise.” She flicked through an ancient rolodex and handed Marina a purple business card. “Jo is the person you want; they’ve never failed yet.” A name and address shimmered in holographic ink, swirling in the buzzing fluorescent sheen overhead. Eager to retreat, Marina thanked the receptionist and swept out onto the muggy street, climate catastrophe soundbites and soulmate success stories nipping at her heels. # # # "Umm… I’m here to see Jo Wainwright? For a QuantAnima case?” Marina’s finger sweated on the building’s call button. She stood in the entrance of a modest apartment building on the east side of town, far from the cooling ocean breeze. A few moments passed. Suddenly worrying this was all a giant prank, Marina almost retreated before a loud BZZZT announced the way was clear. She opened the door and headed up the creaking staircase. Jo’s office door was already ajar, so Marina rapped nervously on the glass. “Jo? Ms.… Mr.… Mx. Wainwright?” she stumbled. “My name’s Marina George, I was told to come—” “Come in, come in!” came a warm voice. Marina slipped inside. The interior of Jo’s office couldn’t have been more different than QuantAnima: A saffron corduroy couch stood below a window overlooking the far-off bay; a bookcase dominated the far wall, volumes double-parked and well worn; maps of all sorts covered the walls so thoroughly that Marina couldn’t make out the paint color beneath. Finally, a desk in the corner and, seated behind three separate monitors, Jo Wainwright. Their short-cropped purple hair and lilting smile instantly put Marina at ease, and she took a seat on the dimpled yellow couch. “Just call me Jo,” they replied, sidestepping Marina’s awkwardness. “So. Tell me about this person you’re looking for. What slices of their life have you seen?” “I’m going to sound crazy.” “Try me. I’ve heard everything.” Marina hesitated, then opened her journal, painting a dreary picture for Jo: Deep waters and icy inky blackness; odd warmth despite the chill; millions of tiny plankton; and, once, a forest of jellyfish floating eerily on the waves. She finally described the ever-present ache of loneliness that was slowly driving her mad. When she finished, Jo leaned back in their chair, steepled fingers fluttering against each other. Marina couldn’t read their expression. “Well.” Jo finally leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Now I’ve heard everything.” “And? What does it all mean?” Jo stood and walked over to their bookshelf. “When one deals with quantum soul entanglement, things can get real trippy, real fast. I’ve had a theory for a while now, but it’s unconventional. Almost apocryphal. Are you okay with that? If not, I can refer you to an untangling specialist, and you can go back to your life.” Marina thought for a moment. Either way, she would end the terrible dreams—but the former option offered answers as well. How could she refuse? “I’m in.” “Excellent!” Jo beamed and started yanking books down, piling the chosen few haphazardly on their desk. “In grad school, I studied the myriad forms animal intelligence can take,” they explained, another book thunking onto the desk. “After starting my current line of work, I hoped,” thunk, “but I never really thought,” thunk, “until now….” Finally, the last thick volume landed in front of Marina. Whales danced in mock gold leaf across the cover. “Marina, this will sound incredible, but… I’m not sure who you’re seeking is human.” Marina read the title. Cetaceans of the Seven Seas. She blinked, feeling stupid. “You’re saying my soulmate is a whale?” She must be misunderstanding. Jo smiled kindly. “No one really understands why this technology works. Companies like QuantAnima tell you they’ll find your soulmate, but entanglement actually finds what’s more like a kindred spirit, whose soul is tethered to yours, somehow. The connection is often romantic—hence the nauseating marketing—but it doesn’t have to be.” “Oh,” was all Marina could say in response. They couldn’t be serious. Could they? “I know it’s a lot to take in, but can you remember any of the other whales that she was traveling with? That will help us narrow down her species.” Jo flipped through the book’s full-color pictures of belugas, orcas, and blue whales, each plate a work of art. “No. She’s always alone.” “Hmm. Harder, but not impossible. Several species lead largely solitary lives…” Jo continued musing, but Marina had stopped listening. She thought back to the news story she’d watched in the QuantAnima office. That whale, cursed by over-hunting, ship strikes, and fishing nets to be the last of her kind. The final victim of a warming ocean, of decades of practices that disregarded impacts on wildlife for progress and profit. The loneliness that haunted her sleeping hours bubbled to her mind’s surface. Marina grabbed the book from Jo and flipped through its pages, stopping on the colored plate depicting Eubalaena glacialis before she even read the title. Soulful eyes gazed up at her from a gentle face, all warts and barnacles and silvery scars. Marina felt something snap into place. A calling—not romantic, but just as powerful—thrummed through her. “Jo. This is her. I know it.” Jo leaned over the page, nodding. “North Atlantic right whale? Another victim of whaling and climate change. Yes, she certainly would be lonely.” They handed Marina a tissue; she was surprised to find she was crying. How could there be any saltwater left in her body for tears? Marina’s gaze swept across the illustration, searching those intelligent eyes. A lonely creature of the deeps, crying out through some chaotic medium to a woman who thought she was broken for being alone. Maybe that woman could find connection and purpose beyond the expected. “I’m going to find her, Jo. She needs me.” And I need her. “All right, then.” Jo leapt to their computer, search queries already flying from their fingertips. “Let’s get started.”
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