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gloria and her biomes

madi giovina

    There is a lady eating barnacles at the bus stop. Why is she eating barnacles at the bus stop? I am not sure, so I do the obvious thing: I ask her.
    I say, “Lady, why are you eating barnacles at the bus stop?” and the lady opens her mouth and she shows me that her body is an aquarium, and she is feeding the barnacles to the big Brachyura, to the Red King crabs. And I say, “Wow! I’ve never seen an aquarium so enclosed before,” and “I didn’t know that crabs eat barnacles.”
    “You don’t know much of anything, do you?” The lady asks me, the first words out of her aquarium-filled mouth. I had expected them to sound muffled, or gurgled, but no, they are just normal words, sounding as words do when they leave a mouth, aquarium-filled or not.
    “I guess I don’t.” I say. “I don’t know what I don’t know, though, so maybe I know more than I think I don’t know, you know?”
    The lady says, “Follow me,” and then she says “and please, call me Gloria,” only this time it did sound a little gurgled, and I am pretty sure I saw some salt water dribble down her cheek when she said “Gloria,” but she turned away from me before I could be sure.
    I follow Gloria and we end up at a lake. At least I think it’s a lake, but it could also be the inside of some other lady’s body, so I don’t want to assume anything. Gloria looks out over it, and I try to mimic her, to see what she sees, but ahead of me is only water. I want to know what she sees, so I do the obvious thing: I ask her. I say, “Lady — I mean —Gloria, what do you see out there on that big lake?”
    Gloria looks at me, and she says, “Dinner.”
    I laugh, but it is a short laugh, because Gloria immediately makes her way to the water. She dives into the lake, her gray head of hair first, mouth wide, and feet ebbing like a mermaid. I wonder if she is a mermaid, if she traded an internal organ for human legs, like they do in the movies.
    Before I can wonder any more, Gloria comes back to shore. She burps a small dainty burp and a crayfish flies out. It lands on the ground in front of me, and Gloria nods towards it. I pick it up and the crayfish squirms in my hand.
    I never really liked fish: they are too salty, and I would rather have something sweet, like fruit, a raspberry, maybe, if given the choice. Sometimes my mom makes tilapia for dinner and I pretend to eat it but really I sneak it onto my older sister’s plate.
    I flick the crayfish back into the lake.
    “What are you doing?” Gloria asks me.
    “I don’t know,” I say. “What do you want me to do?”
    Gloria looks at me. “Well I wanted you to return that little guy home”, and when she says “home” she opens her mouth again, tide as high as ever, “but it’s a bit late for that. Speaking of home, let’s bring you back.“
    Gloria walks me back to the bus stop. I’m not sure where the barnacles are, and I’m not sure I want to know. I go home and try to tell my mom and sister about Gloria and her aquarium-filled mouth and the lake and the crayfish but my sister yawns and my mom is too focused on cooking us a crockpot dinner so she just says “That’s nice sweetie. I’m glad you had a good day.”
    After school the next day, I wait and wait for Gloria at the bus stop, but she never shows. Two days later, I walk to the lake, but Gloria is not there, and the lake is less big than I remember.
    I mostly forget about Gloria and her barnacles, until one night my mom cooks tilapia, and I try again to tell her the story. But even though she isn’t focused on cooking dinner anymore, she still just says “That’s nice sweetie. I’m glad you had a good day.”
    I don’t even bother pretending to eat the fish she’s cooked, and I go to bed hungry, plate full of tilapia still on the kitchen table.
    A few months later, I finally see Gloria again at the bus stop, only this time she is not eating barnacles - she is spitting out sand.
    I say, “Gloria, why are you spitting out sand?”
    Gloria tries to answer. I can tell she is trying because her lips are parting and her tongue is hitting the roof of her mouth but nothing loud enough to hear comes out. I wonder again if she is a mermaid, if she too traded her voice for human legs like they do in the movies. Before I can wonder any more, Gloria spits out more sand and a few shells. I can only see the back of her head now. She is leaning over the bench of the bus stop, spilling and spitting shore all over the sidewalk. I rub her back, but that feels wrong, so I give her space.
    Eventually Gloria looks up at me, and I can see waves in her eyes. “Drought.” She says. I motion for her to open her mouth. I peer in, and she is right, her body is no longer an aquarium: it is a drought. I see a few small crabs, (no Red Kings), but it is mostly sand all of the way down.
    “Follow me,” I say and I grab her hand and lead her to the lake. When we get there, it is not a lake at all, but a field of mud. “Ah,” I say. Gloria nods.
    I think of how much shells must hurt on the way up the esophagus and out the throat, and I feel for Gloria, I really do. I wonder if it feels like when I had strep throat, or if it feels even worse.
    I wish I had a lake to give her. I think about the water cycle, and how I don’t know where all of the lake water could have gone, if it’s not down here and it’s not in the clouds, and I think about how I know more than I did when I first met Gloria, but I still don’t know what I don’t know.
    Gloria walks me back to the bus stop, and waves goodbye as I head home. The next time I see Gloria is a few months later. She is at the bus stop as expected, and this time she is sucking on shrubs and soaking up sun. Before I can ask her why she is sucking on shrubs and soaking up sun, she opens her mouth to show me.

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