I breathe out and a gust of carbon dioxide-filled bubbles twirl and spin upward through the water like a complicated ballroom dance, climbing toward the light above that shined down below like a false sun, glimmering along the tops of my eyelashes like twinkling stars and swirling in waves along the floor as turbulent as the surface of the water above. My eyes give them no more notice than any other time I take a breath, glancing over the bubbles to the screen on the far side of the tank when it lights up for the entertainment of the day. Bright shapes and colors dance around the screen like an overstimulating rainbow, a radio above playing muffled music like the kind you’d hear in a daycare waiting room. I step closer to that side of the tank sluggishly under the syrup-thick water, like I haven’t fully woken up from stasis yet, zoning out until I hear the switch-like click of the screen shutting off for today.
As I prepare for my mid-day nap, something prickles my ear. The soft tapping-like sound of a small crack. Before I can turn my head to the sound, another one rings through the tank, this time almost ear-splittingly loud, like the crackle of nearby thunder. I hardly have time to even brace myself before all of the nutrient-rich water around me pours out like a tidal wave, pulling me to the ground.
My lungs taste air for the first time, sputtering to a jolting start like an old engine being brought to life. I cough out liquid, as unsure of this new feeling as a baby bird using its wings after falling out of the nest. I’m so busy heaving and spitting, hunched over the ground in discomfort, that I fail to pick up on the soft plats of footsteps on the wet floor. My skin Is cold, cold like someone would be after stepping out of a heated pool and into the snow in mid-winter. I jolt when I see a pair of legs in front of me, my eyes trail up them and meet another pair, these new eyes are bright blue, closer to the colors on my screen than the dull turquoise of my warm watery home. They stare back at my own eyes, staring surprisedly at my face. My eyes are wide like a wild rabbit cornered by a wolf, never having seen another person before.
Before I know it, a pair of lanky arms drape a jacket loosely around my shoulders like an odd-shaped cloak, then scooping me easily off of the ground and taking me away from the place I feel safe, my body feeling heavy. A voice tells me that I will be okay, and I crane my neck upward to once again look at the face of the one carrying me. Short hair frames the face, the purple color almost as vibrant as the blue of her eyes. It serves as almost a mocking reminder of what I no longer have, my pretty dancing shapes and colors with their friendly and comforting soundtrack to match.
After a few minutes that stretch on like hours, I’m set down on something that feels impossibly soft, something I’ve never felt before. I feel overwhelmed.
“What’s your name, little guy?” Their voice is soft and quiet, like my beloved muffled speakers, a relief to my ringing ears. I do not understand the request, and there is a brief silence before a slender hand ruffles my hair. This feeling, too, is foreign and unfamiliar, like most things I’ve encountered today. Their gentle smile does not falter at my silence, only opening to speak again.
“I guess we’ll have to find one for you, then.”