He’d felt its eyes on him most of his life. 

The first time was at North Beach in Racine, Wisconsin, along Lake Michigan.

He can’t remember his exact age then, but it was before the age of 12. He can at least pinpoint it that much. But he remembers clearly the rope that was strung around the area of the lake that was officially designated as the swimming area. He still smiles thinking about how brave he felt making it out there — the whole way replaying the countless times he’d watched a re-run of Jaws on TNT. 

But then he looked down. 

And that pride turned into a profound sense that something was looking back up at him. 

He immediately thrashed his way to shore, and he hasn’t been back in the water for decades since. He refuses. 

He didn’t want to feel it again. 

But once you see it, and it sees you … well, it never forgets a face. 

That feeling would return here and there for a while. Not as intense, but a unique twinge in his heart unlike the common variety the chaotic thing kicks out on a daily basis. 

He used to say it was terror. It was anxiety, he told himself. 

But beneath every lie his mouth could spew out was the truth: He was never really afraid of the Deep.  

He was afraid of what he felt when he saw it. 

Every time it felt close, he’d become more aware of the exact location and size of his heart in his body as it felt as though it was pumping stimulants into his blood, setting his teeth on edge. 

An unbearable sense of longing would rule over any other thing his mind and body wanted him to feel. 

It cut through his every thought. It obliterated all traces of what had come before that day.

And he’d feel as if he was back there, floating in Lake Michigan looking down.

Every run-in along the way, a painful reminder of how easy it would be to just give in. 

Because he does want to. He has for a long time now. 

He dreams of plunging beneath the waves never to come up for air again. 

He’s always longed to see if his body will sink like a stone. 

He wants to scream, “Yes,” to the Deep’s continual plea to keep it company. 

But he doesn’t. 

Not yet. 

The day will come, of course. He knows that. 

No one can ignore the howl of their own longing forever. 

But for now, at least, he has dry feet.

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