When the giant squid takes hold of you, suctioning the flow of oxygen to your brain, it skews the right side of your once-sassy mouth, forcing a look comical, confused. Its massiveness deadweights the same side of your body so that you trudge, can’t be trusted on your own. I offer you a plastic cup of water. The elongated mollusk tangles your words, lashes your memory, shreds your memories. Leaves your mind think-tilted.

I retell the stories about our fairy tale travels in Turks and Bali, imagining they will somehow free you from its clutches. Reassure us both that we’ll always be together. While the water you just slurped dribbles toward your collarbone, I recount the one about our dive from an outrigger near Flores into a shadowed ocean, and how when we resurfaced our boat was gone. We thought we were done for. Then out from the light-stretched horizon the boat reappeared. Our guide Bimo panic-paddled like it was his life depended on his reaching us, not ours.  I wipe the water from you.

I retell our first date at the Museum of Natural History, as much for you as for myself. You said the dioramas under the suspended blue whale had been your favorite as a child, but when we got to the one with the giant squid and sperm whale death-matching, you admitted it terrified you. I’m terrified now. You told me that the sperm whale can dive to over 6,500 feet and remain under water for more than an hour in pursuit of a giant squid. Although it’s been days, I know that’s what you’re doing: pursuing that squid to its last. Once you’ve devoured it, you’ll spit out its inedible beak and quill.  You’ll breach and lobtail, our joy in your vanquishing the giant squid unrivaled.

Catherine Chiarella Domonkos’ stories have been selected for Best Small Fictions, nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize, and longlisted for the Wigleaf Top 50. Her words appear in JMWW, Sky Island, Gooseberry Pie, and NUNUM, among other literary places. For the complete collection, check out: www.catherinechiarelladomonkos.com.