by Anna Kegler
Once, my sister and I went night snorkeling on vacation
Our guide picked us up just after sunset. As he turned the car onto an unlit dirt road, I realized nobody knew we were there. We’d surely be blamed when our strangled bodies were found. How stupid they’d say we’d been. I tried to locate a sinking feeling of any kind. I had a purple wetsuit on, and the breeze was warm. As the car bumped over the gravel, our guide told us how months ago he’d found a sea worm he couldn’t identify. He took it to a biologist friend, who later revealed it was a new species that no one had named. He beamed with pride. We asked if they named it after him. He said no, but it’s a really great worm. We stopped at the dark beach. The waves lapped, gently. After we got out of the car, he handed us little underwater flashlights. We put our faces in the ocean and saw hundreds of fish sleeping at the bottom, their bodies floating sideways, shifting slightly back and forth. A curious squid swam up to look at us. We searched and searched for an octopus, came up empty. When we clambered back onto shore, elated and shivering, our guide pulled dry towels out of the trunk. Turned the car heater on, handed us each a bottle of water and a candy bar. Your friends will be so impressed, right? he said, eyes smiling in the rearview mirror.
Poet Anna Kegler (she/her) is a writer based in Washington, D.C., with roots in Minnesota. She works in nonprofit communications and enjoys Muay Thai, dance, and playing the oboe. She does not enjoy making oboe reeds, but she is persevering.
Artist Rebecca Nestor (she/her) is a stay at home mom in Oregon. She has a passion for creating works that are relatable and engaging. Follow her on Instagram @rebeccaelainenestor.
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