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SHADES OF GRAY

I love you, Aimee. That tender embrace Last experienced within your arms transformed my body into prison. I want out. I yearn to be human. I must speak and be spoken back to. I couldn't. I didn't. Now the chance is gone. Your eyes. I'd fall in and never climb back out. I love your eyes. Your smile. It nurtured within your radiance . I love your smile. Your body. Come here and let us share it. I love your body. Your voice. Whisper to me , let it fill the sea. I love you voice. You. Hurry back to me, Aimee. I need you. I love you.

Somewhere within the pool, a surprised minnow darts to safety. While I cannot see the creature, I know she traveled southeast before bolting northeast. I know the minnow's several inches in length and three quarters an inch wide. It's not the minnow I see; it is the spots in the water I can't hear. The startled fish found safety under protest down my muzzle and into the stomach. Brief contentment. Micro-sleep, though concise, offers time-wasting and sanity restoration all in one. The closest comparison that comes to mind is not power naps, but rather deep thoughts. Micro-sleep for humans is sitting in a warm, dim room reading a book so enticing the environment becomes wasted space. During micro-sleep, the world collapses and your thoughts manifest into beings. Your worries, the mundane cares, the tiny details stored in memory, they appear to play and replay for your amusement. And there you remain, till the air in your lungs expire and you wake up to get more. It feels short; yet, your dream lasts less than ten seconds. It's only short in review. The grotto is silent. The pool is alive, dipping at average intervals. I'm at three-hundred currently, and feel reluctant to wait that time out again. But what choice was there? We're trapped in the cave, my mate succumbing to captivity and myself reaching the highest levels of boredom. The scars from previous spousal attacks bleached my skin, citations to the dangers of cabin fever. Now I had a fresh set, blood oozing into the saline. I scolded myself, for suggesting multiple mating sessions to fever victims had only one obvious outcome. The ebonized silver leaf floated silently on her side of the enclosure, ignoring everything. I tried wasting time by micro sleep, but after numerous successes I'd run low on things to think about. It'd only been five minutes. Several minutes passed and I lounged upright, staring at the ceiling. Bouts of curiosity forced brief moments of scanning, but results of humid moss and oblong cracks eventually terminated my search . Smooth tail flicks pushed my upper half through the pool, giving relief to idle ligaments without disturbing my brooding mate. Time and again I met the cave walls, often through pain, with my melon if I drifted too close. By the time I called that game quits, my aching head gladly helped me forget the current situation. Sixty dips later (ten minutes), and the silence became too much. I'd been hurt plenty during these past days, what's a few more scars? I called out to my mate using my signature whistle. As expected, she didn't return it. "Isthia!" She didn't speak, only cautioned me through a slur of trills. "Come on, don't be moody." "We've been over this, Gregory-" "Aha! I knew I'd get something out of you." Silence. Damn.

Three boring, speechless hours later, I laid resting my rostrum upon the side of the pool. Relaxing as it was, having my face so far from the water had an awkward feel to it. Back when I lived near South Padre, beachgoers commonly noticed me resting out of the water. Isthia said it was childish, but I didn't see a problem. Captive dolphins always seemed to be partly above the surface, as I was. Perhaps I missed viewing the world from above the ocean.... Near her corner of the cave, I caught a small flash of light slice through the darkness. While it hardly seemed anything to startle over, it gave good reason for activity. I raced over towards Isthia, a good three tail thrusts in length, and nearly crashed into the inverted life form. While her body lie inches beneath the waves, she appeared to be sinking. "I'm losing my mind, Gregory" came a trill below the surface, "it's like Hell in here." From this vantage point, her flipped upside down and me sitting at normal buoyancy, it took no effort to look my mate directly in her eye. Pangs echoing our previous fights within this grotto halted me from making any contact, so I replied, "Yeah. It is. I hate staying in here too." Isthia's dull and empty gaze offered no comfort to our situation, though she'd long since given up. "It's not the cave anymore," she sighed, "I'm worried about the man in the boat." And not the man in the dolphin suit? "Isthia, come on! He was out during the storm. If he wanted to live he would have ran off to Nebraska like everybody else!" She offered no rebuttal. Cautiously, I inched myself forward and set my rostrum between her erect flippers and polished skin. No acknowledgment came, yet the pulse beneath her flesh offered all the closure I needed. "I'm sorry, Isthia. This place is...." My words trailed off. We had oxygen to conserve. Besides, nothing good ever came with worrisome speech to a worried soul. Isthia lowered her flippers, enveloping me from the "neck" up. One final, if not weak, response came and went through my buzzing rostrum. Her muscles bristled. We had relaxed.

I lost count of the dips from that moment on. The hurricane ravaged outside, tearing rock from sandstone and throwing the mass towards the sea. Yet, from within our quaint home with no sunlight, my mind could only focus to one thing at a time. It focused on Isthia, then to my daughter, then back to Isthia. Had my blowhole not opened unconsciously from time to time, I could have happily drowned.

Sometime, maybe not more than five or six hours (who's counting?), something caught my attention. The displacement of water within the cave had decreased, and what could only be described as seasickness began to wear away from within my body. "Isthia?" She didn't reply. "I feel something." "Me too." "Is the water calming down?" There's some doubt as to whether or not she had truly felt something before I mentioned it. But when I did, her dark physique appeared to u-turn out of the water and down into the tunnel. I struggled to keep up with her pace in such a tight fit, but her speed was so tremendous it seemed the forces of pressure, not physical exertion, were working on her part to suck her out of the cave.

White light had never burned so triumphantly. Pieces of mud-caked debris swam and sank in the shallow bay, scattering the seabed with iron and rubber. Yet through the wasteland that lay before the cave entrance, a dame of extravagance showed off her colors. "Oh, Gregory!" She chortled above planks and debris, "It's all over! The bitch is dead! No more rocky womb for us!" Over and over she twirled through the air, gaining enough speed in such shallow water to propel her well above the gnarled palms that hunched on the beach. Never once did the charcoal-grey dolphin point her snout to meet the water, preferring to land face or back first, yet after every belly-flop her liberated soul lifted her again and again into the air. She breathed the fumes from proximal electrical fires and manipulated the breeze into triumphant calls. Anybody on the beach, had they the sense of our "new liability", would have seen one oddly befuddled dolphin staring silently at it's soaring silver companion, creating a cacophony as if greeting the rescue sirens. My stomach churned. Besides a few slivers of flesh, I'd lost only a minimal amount of body weight to show for the time spent without food in our shelter. Had I the instincts of my mate, blind leaping would have overridden my hunger as well. In the meantime, I needed food and I wanted it fast. As I turned to take off towards open water, willing to leave my mate and her boo over a few startled morsels, a splintered bark-carcass knocked me across the cape. Mouth ajar in offensive warning, I spun around to face the direction the newly donned driftwood hailed from. I scanned hastily throughout the area. Any creature daring to face a human trapped in a dolphin's body, one trapped for some time as well, prepared for a mix of reckless aggression and fuming instincts. The second I let my right flank's guard down it suffered a quick and irritating blow. Plagued by hunger and confusion I whirled around with intent to devour the wooden nuisance. Flakes of newspaper and palm fronds swirled in a phantom wake. I shut my eyes for sharper focus and starting to echolocate. Minus debris and soot caught in suspended animation, the ocean appeared void. I rose to the surface and caught a breath, ready to pass this driftwood affair off for disjointed tidal currents. Perhaps several servings Atlantic Sturgeon and recitation of the entire offensive words list would sate my irritability. No sooner had I submerged and thrust my tail downward, but the damn driftwood knocked me on the pelvis! Hadn't we ventured far enough from land to avoid the clutter of social building blocks? My underbelly flushed red with exasperation. Untamed delphinic aggression struggled to gain control and my human sensibility happily surrenders the controls. The perspective of murky, soot stirred waters suddenly grows darker. Echolocation kicks in full force and raw energy builds in my tail. A symphony of snapping jaws and aggressive droning, echoes of all the fights fought before my time, rage within my brain and drive my powerhouse forwards. "Oh, come on," a smug voice behind me mutters, "did you lose your sense of humor?" The ocean illuminates around me yet again. My trilling echolocation halts and my eyes get back to duty. Roaring cacophonies fueling my rage decrescendo into rest. Energy once held for destruction of a certain plank of bark reverts to twist my body around. Behind me, gripping an arm's length wooden plank between two rows of grinning teeth, sat my mate. "It's hungry," I snapped, "and that wasn't funny." "Well, you deserved it for annoying me back in the cave," retorted Isthia as she let the driftwood float to the surface. "I never realized how funny your face looks when you get angry." I wasn't laughing. "You need to be more careful, Isthia! I was about to turn violent! You could've been hurt." She coyly swished her tail, slightly rotating her body away from me. "Hurt? From you? I don't think so." "I'm not joking, Isthia-" "I know, or it wouldn't be funny." "You don't realize how enraged I was! I lost all control! You don't know how-" "Oh yes I do." "I almost attacked you!" She innocently cocked her head at me. "Well? What's stopping you now?" "Don't, Isthia." "My whole right flank is exposed! Oh dear me! Whatever shall I do?" "I'm warning you, Isthia." "Oh no! Not the warning! Oh how it hurts me!" "Isthia-" "Oh the pain of the warning! I give up! Mercy!" I snapped my tail down and drove head-on at her flank. The second I made contact, though, she arched her tail and let me pass with no significant impact. I rolled away from her and sank downwards to prepare another charge. A sharp sting hit my right flank and I twisted away from the source. Glancing up I saw Isthia floating inverted, upside down from the force of her tail jerk, mischief gleaming in her eyes. The chafed tip of her rostrum planted squarely between those taunting pair of onyx spheres stirred an agonizing fury back into my psyche. The childish sneer plastered on her expression resonated harshly in my sights, creating an image of a juvenile, hyperactive clown. My hesitation proved useless when the lingering pain of her bite pushed me over the edge. Full force to the pelvis, I drove towards the surface and down the sights of the rostrum pointed my way. She made no effort to avoid contact and in mere milliseconds her image vanished from my sight. Rage shrouded my senses and my judgment. It filled the lapse of reason between the source and the anticipation of impact. Déjà vu, all over again. When my eyes opened I did not see that familiar dark grey figure, but rather a rubbish textured field of pale blue. Either the brisk sea air drying my skin or the vertigo of zero gravity did the trick, but I submerged with full sight and panging guilt. In the resulting calm of my returning senses, a gentle hum faded into my hearing. My pulsating heart fluttered within her soothing vibrations. Such beautiful timbre echoed in the sea yet resonated in my body alone. Just as intended.... I took off. It didn't matter where to, I just had to get away. Pieces of trash and debris scratched at my cheeks in the rush I ignored them over my racing thoughts. What is happening to me? Am I losing my sense or just my sanity? How could I ever think of harm towards Isthia, my altruistic mate and teacher, the caregiver of my unborn daughter? What irrational plot drove me to this kind of behavior? I raced ahead through the plethora of rotting planks, aluminum and plastic. She was there. She immediately began following me, and I knew it. There came no sound from her airway, not a single question nor curios vocalizations. She knew the root of my behavior long before I had recognized it. The guilt clouded my rationality and drove me to avoiding her. But her presence so near had a powerful comfort; one I couldn't dare resist. The time between the pump and pull of my tail gradually lengthened. Debris brushing my skin no longer tore through and soon became unnoticeable. The burning shame I'd fought so hard to outrace began to catch me. And when she arrived, I willingly shut her image from my eyes. "Gregory..." That low confident voice, dripping in wisdom, eased through my ears and into my brain. I refused to respond. Her emotions had risen to a two-day high but I crashed them. The rush of escaping that storm, the stress of induced captivity, the swing of her demeanor; what was it doing to her? Worse still, what was it doing to our daughter? These questions nagged my brain and I struggled to block them and her from myself. My mind or hers? "Gregory, please. I love you." Hers. My mind had had all my attention it deserved today. "Isthia, I'm so sorry, I-" "No, Gregory," she gently replied, "you don't need to explain yourself to me. You're my mate, and I love you." How does one react? Such a simple yet heartfelt statement, what was the right way to respond? I could have gathered had my mind not shut down in protest. Only my heart could respond to hers. Somewhere within me, a shell of what was once myself lied in a curled mass. It enveloped the core of my former body with interlocking fingers and knees pressing against the chest. It lies naked, vulnerable, shivering from lack of warmth and excess of sorrow. A swollen lump in the throat barricades all conflict between the heart and the brain, the latter in a faltering lead. When the levee breaks, the heart expels pure sorrow through the human fossil, and he breaks down. He sheds tears amongst a mournful wail piercing through my current form. He screams while hammering the soft tissue below him with his balled up fists. He takes half capacity of air for every full breath he unleashes. His tears pool up in his shrinking tomb as it gradually loses its connections. It wails in guilt of what has occurred and moans at the dreadful reality of what is to come. He has the protection he needs but struggles with his loneliness, for he secretly wishes I could join in and ease his sorrow. I never assumed dolphins could cry. Perhaps it evolved from their genetics, or they are too proud to allow scientific observations, but even now I am unsure. While the Gregory within in me unloaded pure unmitigated sorrow, my physical self appeared freakishly calm. My eyes closed tight, my skin the same pale shade of grey, my muscles tensed yet motionless, my pectoral fins quivering against the current. Oncoming waves rolled against my immobile stature, lolling me onto my side. Faint nausea accompanied by the sobbing being within created a sickening floating sensation. Burning on my underbelly served notice to the pool of tears shed by the creature within me-tears meant for me to shed. Although it was over three minutes since my last breath. It didn't matter. Breathing would only prolong that inner struggle and give strength to the force of those phantom tears I'm unable to release. The ascension of my being towards the sea surface cannot be stopped as I was too numb to struggle. But I didn't have to breathe. Something within in, far closer to the surface than that bawling ghost, took swift control of my muscles. It yanked my tail along one side, twisting it like the arm of a lumpy target of bullies. My flukes, the fins protruding from my tail, shifted vertically and rolled my underbelly towards the sky. It was as impulsive as fluttering dust from an eyelid. Isthia sat silently below. The slow rhythmic treading of her tail against the oncoming current was all I could hear. I kept time in my head, emphasis on the down-beat. One and two and three and four and Two and two and three and four and.... And then, there was nothing. No tortured parasite stirring up my shame, no racing questions arbitrarily waiting for answers; only a sudden release of soothing neutrality. There was no glee yet no guilt. Only the cozy heat from the tropical sun above, an adagio tempo of my true love below, and a silent tranquility in the middle. "Isthia, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Such a phrase repeated for lack of a better suitor. Her rhythm was unchanged. "Take a breath, Gregory," her firm tone wavered with concern, "and come down to me." No hesitation this time. Using the same twitch as earlier, only with more intention, my tail helped me right myself upwards. The remaining gas in my lungs blew out and drew in pure relief. Maybe that breath would have cut the whole ordeal short. The scorch of midday rays lessened as I submerged. Four fathoms below me, Isthia swam in elliptical patterns - five body lengths straight, bend at the pelvis, five body lengths back, bend at the pelvis, five body lengths- carefully calculated without a sink or rise. It made me cringe. Body and mind were synchronized in activity. Pressure around my head bore down when I reached her depth. On cue my inner ears inflated and the pressure equalized. A minor distraction, if any. Her continuous loops alienated from my presence served as little comfort. The thoughts once racing through my mind appeared now in her demeanor. A set pair of eyes, open yet unfocused, the tense robotic jerks of her tail with each pump- it drew such suspense. Pressure from her upcoming speech, be it pep-talk or scolding, bore down and suffocated me. I began to circle around her predetermined pattern, anticipating her to speak as I met her at the end of her loop, only to watch her bend and swim away. Minutes passed, dip after dip, though I failed to keep track. I nearly kept swimming around her, out of habit, when she finally paused in front of me. "You really lost it back there, Gregory." Was that concern or disappointment? Her tone made it difficult to tell. "I've never seen you get so aggressive." Yes, she had to be disappointed. That tone hung in the low, soft octaves. "But if you're worried, I'm not mad at you." What? "Yes." Isthia's transfixed gaze bore through my skull. Silent, hopeless eyes studied me and passively ordered a response. It stifled within me- my brain and esophagus betrayed her. "Gregory, do you remember what you saw two years ago? That state you were in after my fishing lesson?" The memory faded the second I recalled it. Fishing lessons? What's that about altered states? Why am I still in one? Isthia noticed my vacant searching. Acting on a cue she gently pressed her rostrum to my forehead. Suddenly I was back two years ago; pulses of heat rushed through my body, aroused by the thrill of the hunt, forcing blood to my gullet in an effort to digest, fueled by the enthused afterglow of my final lesson. Her voice urged me to go into micro sleep; tremors of her voice echoed in my head. My vision faded and an exhilarating force drove me from my body. There was a- Isthia eased the pressure on my melon. Her soft calloused rostrum traced a line gingerly up and down the crease on my forehead. We were back in the present, but the memory of that altered state rang vividly in my brain. "Yeah..." my dormant voice whispered to life, "I remember. All of my memories and habits from humanity morphed into my old self and it vanished. You said it would help me adapt to living as a dolphin." Isthia backed up until we were eye-to-eye. Despite a twinge of accomplishment, her expression remained set in reserved uncertainty. "And it did, Gregory. You had the behavior and instincts of a biological dolphin. But not everything from your old life disappeared. You missed your wife, Aimee, and your old life." "Right," I piped up before she could speak again, "but then I went back and realized I would rather be a dolphin. Aimee and I shared a moment on the beach and we agreed to move on." "But you didn't. I know you still miss her." THAT caught me off caught. I stared at my mate. "I noticed the first time, Gregory. You didn't think I'd noticed this time too?" I searched Isthia's eyes for an explanation. "It's not your fault, dear. It can't be helped. After changing back to a human, it reverted part of your psyche. You regained some of the memories and instincts you had as a man. Once you were a dolphin again, those instincts became recessive." "Jeez, Isthia. I'm not sure I can handle all of this. Couldn't you just put me back in micro-sleep and get rid of those memories?" "No! Don't you get it? These past few days while we were in the cave, the remnants of your humanity suppressed your dominant instincts. That's why we didn't react the same during the confinement. But after the storm was over, your dolphin instincts tried to regain control. But the human section of your mind fought back, and it intensified your dolphin instincts. Although the aggressiveness you displayed wasn't rare for dolphins, it was rare for you." Was she trying to shame me? My thoughts were too scattered to make out an emotion. I continued to stare. "Gregory, I love you." "I love you too, Isthia. And I love our daughter. But where does that come into this story?" "Let me finish. Gregory, you can't continue fighting yourself like this. Do you remember when I told you dolphins were raised by the mothers? You do know why that is, right?" I scanned my dolphin instincts for an answer. "Testosterone-fueled egocentricism?" "Cute. No, Gregory. The truth is, male dolphins are naturally aggressive. You saw with Deryl how authority easily becomes aggression. And if we had any calves or juveniles in the pod when he took over..." Her voice and focus faded. "Gregory, you are different. No matter how much human instinct or dolphin instinct you have, your personality will always be the same. You are a loving mate, and I trust you to raise our daughter properly. But you have to understand that as long as those two sides are conflicting, things will happen that are beyond your control. And if that happens within sight of our daughter, you wouldn't be able to-" I lurched forward and pressed my rostrum to hers, surprising her enough to cut the sentence short. I'm sure we both didn't want to hear her next thought. Humming tenderly, I traced the yellow-grey crease connecting my lover's rostrum to her melon. The stiffened muscles along her face dissolved into her silky skin. The pressure of explaining and visualizing the predicament escaped through her pores, and she quickly shut her eyes to prevent it from returning. She bristled to my massage, stirring enough movement to roll her ventral side up to her dorsal side. While she was upside-down I found my next target: the line of contrast where her shaded grey skin met the pale white of her underbelly. As if my rostrum had sharpened to a scalpel, I followed the line slowly and methodically down her body. I hit some resistance once I reached her pectoral fin, which she had splayed out to help remain in place. Pushing my masseur appendage firmly against her fin, I gently nibbled the small crease of skin where her fin met her body. Both pecs jerked skywards and flapped about, followed by a playful nip on my right flank. I traced inwards across the pallid rubbery skin, sensing that familiar swell near her navel. How well I'd come to love this bulge, despite thinking much more highly of it. Isthia enclosed my head between her fins, pulling my body against hers. My tail once bobbing at the surface sank below the waves and past her head. As it rose up again it pushed against the top of her rostrum, firmly locking me in place in her embrace. "Isthia," I murmured through the calming drone resonating in my rostrum, "I've decided to pick dolphin again." "I'm glad you've made up your mind," she sighed, "but it's not up to you." There was no keeping track of how long the embrace lasted. We sat in a motionless state for as long as our lungs could manage. Her, upside down clutching a dolphin's head with every bit of her metaphorical grip. I, rostrum buzzing tenderly against her swollen underbelly and a tail moored against her rostrum struggling against the currents to remain against her. My mind began to wander...did I feel her heartbeat? There should be a set. Perhaps the two were synced in heartbeat as they were in body... Isthia nudged the taunt skin near my flukes, releasing my tail to ascend towards the surface. The heartbeat and warmth vanished as my body listlessly rose. I had no will to combat it. Breaking the surface I took a much needed gasp. From my peripherals I saw my mate rise and do the same. Funny how a short breath can clear even the foggiest of minds... "Come on," Isthia clicked, descending to the level for optimum speed, "we still need to check on that man. Then we can set off again." Seriously? Had she not forgotten about him like I had? The two sides may be conflicting internally, but outside I knew there was no contest- dolphin trumps human any time!