Bermuda Crybaby

Okay, fair warning: I’m pooped, so this story has been started but it doesn’t seem to want to finish itself tonight. I’m not entirely certain where it wants to go, just yet — I’m thinking scary, but it could also be a gentle sort of romance. I see both possibilities happening here. And it was meant to be much shorter than it’s turning into. Anyway, read it if you like and tell me: do you think it should become scary and ominous, or be more about self-discovery and love? I can do either!


Lindsay wasn’t really scared of the dark, nor had she been since she was a little kid. And she wasn’t afraid of the water. But she didn’t like the idea of seaweed touching her legs deep under the surface, where she couldn’t see the stuff wiggling and waving around in the currents, and her stomach turned over at the thought of a fish ever bumping into her leg.


Still, she hadn’t expected to be so afraid of snorkelling around a wrecked ship not twenty feet from the pink beach of the resort in Bermuda where she and her friends were staying. Not when the sun was roasting her shoulders and the waves were lapping coolly around her ankles, the turquoise waters sparkling into the distance while children laughed just down the way and rock music was playing from someone’s boombox. This was her vacation. She was supposed to be trying new things on this adventure, not standing frozen, half-in and half-out of the Atlantic ocean like some sort of washed-up Greek statue. And not when the equipment in her hands was costing her $20 an hour for the rental. She’d worked hard at her part-time Mcjob to fund this trip, and she hadn’t even needed to bring her English homework along — she’d prepared for a good time by wrapping up all her loose ends at school days before the plane had taken off.

She’d vowed, once she turned eighteen, to stop being so nervous about new experiences and to take more chances. Lindsay had never broken a bone in her life, or sprained an ankle, or even gotten a gash deeper than a scrape, because she was cautious to the point of paranoia, or so her girlfriend Eva told her. Eva — now, there was someone to envy. Eva had jumped (literally, her feet actually leaving the ground when the announcement was made) at the opportunity to go parasailing, taken a scuba-diving class to check out a nearby reef, and climbed to the top mast of a sailboat. Lindsay was familiar, too, with the pictures and videos of Eva bungee-jumping and zip-lining, horseback riding and skiing downhill at breakneck speeds. Eva was so much the opposite of herself . . . sometimes Lindsay wondered what the woman saw in her.

It was just a sunken boat, for crying out loud. The resort people had put it there, on purpose, for tourists like herself to paddle around and peer at. She could see it from where she was standing, a long white, black, and red shape seemingly just beneath the waves. Other guests she’d spoken to while renting the flippers, mask, and snorkel had gushed about the colourful sea life they’d observed in and around the wreck, an experience that was not to be missed.

So what’s wrong with me? It’s a perfect day — just get in the freaking water!

But Lindsay couldn’t make her legs push forward, no matter how she berated herself. She stood there until her feet were buried in the drifting pale sand, letting the soft sea breeze caress the burning skin on her upper back and neck and enjoying the way it teased her hair. Seagulls cried overhead. If one of them pooped on her, she’d have to dive in to wash it off, or else go back to her room to take a shower.

Finally, she turned around and trudged back onto the hot sand to return the gear, dry and unused (by her anyway), because her time was nearly up and she really wanted something to drink. The brackish odours of brine and kelp and God knew what else were making her mouth and throat feel dry and scratchy. Glumly making her way back across the beach, she smiled in relief at the sight of Eva loping toward her.

“Lindsay! You’ve got to come and see this!” The tall brunette was shouting as she approached, uncaring of who might be watching. “They’ve got a grotto!”

Bemused, Lindsay shaded her eyes. “One of those underwater cave thingies?”

“Yeah! Well, sort of,” Eva told her, skidding to a halt. She leaned over to rest her hands on her knees, grinning breathlessly. “It’s a cave and it’s got a pool, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. Come take a look!”

Lindsay let her girlfriend take her by the hand and lead her down the length of the beach, toward a cliff at the opposite end. She suppressed an urge to climb up the wooden stairs leading back to the resort’s main building and her safe, air-conditioned room, following Eva instead along a crushed-shell path around a prettily-landscaped abutment.

On the other side was a small dock within a charming lagoon. A few rowboats tied neatly on either side of the dock bobbed gently in the swells. To the left, the path ended at another set of stairs rising toward a dark hole in the cliff, beside which was a neatly letter sign reading, “Grotto”.

“See?” Eva chortled, clapping her hands. “Isn’t it awesome? You have to see inside, it gets even better.”

The gaping blackness raised goosebumps on Lindsay’s arms and scalp, but Eva was already dragging her forward and up the steps. A rush of cold air made her shiver, and she started to protest, too late; in another moment, she was inside the darkness of the cave, smelling wet earth and salt water.

Oh, my God, there’s going to be a cave-in and we’re going to be trapped . . .

“Just let your eyes adjust,” Eva told her quietly. Lindsay felt Eva’s arms wrapping around her and relaxed a little. “See, Lin? There are lights on the walls, and just under the waterline.”

It was true. As her vision changed, Lindsay saw two perforated lines of muted yellow orbs, one at just over head-level — well, for Eva anyway — and the second distorted by the waters lapping around it. The pool itself was an inky black, but the striations of the rock glistened around each lamp’s glow.

“Have you been in the water?” Lindsay murmured. She moved forward, shuffling her feet cautiously, and discovered a railing placed conveniently to prevent guests from falling over the ledge of rock.

“Yeah, and it’s beautiful. You’d think it would be cold, but it’s comfortable.”

“Are there any fish?” She knelt to touch the stone, expecting to feel disgusting slime under her fingers. “There wouldn’t be any seaweed in here, would there?”

“No, you goose,” Eva laughed. “I promise you, there’s nothing else like swimming in a grotto. You’ve already got your swimsuit on, let’s go in!”

Book Review: In Celebration of Elastic Waistbands, by Christee Gabour Atwood


I feel like Christee Gabour Atwood has been peeking into my life and taking notes. Honestly, there was so much I was able to appreciate and commiserate with in her tales, it felt like I was almost meeting my doppelgänger.

Once I got used to the style of the book — short, column-length chapters that were a comfortable length to read with tired eyes — I gobbled it up whenever I could. I really enjoyed her humour, her Erma Bombeck-esque take on life, career, home, and fur-babies. I am going to order a copy of this book for my mother, and probably get copies for some of my friends. This is the Rubber Chicken for the Soul. When I feel surrounded by perfect moms with hotel-clean houses and organized lives, this book is going to remind me that a) only a small proportion of North American women are like that, and b) most of them are on TV. Christee Gabour Atwood is welcome in my dog-hair, comfortably cluttered home, anytime. I may even have to frame some of her words of wisdom, immortalizing her proverbs in cross-stitch, because I honestly love them that much. Plus, cross-stitch is a great way to avoid mopping, folding laundry, dishes…

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Book Review: As the Witch Turns


Oh, how I enjoyed this short story! I love the snark, I love the sly digs at pop culture, I love the voice that Anne Carpenter gives to a certain witch we all know and (most of us) love… I’ve read another book about the witches of Oz, and this tale is a similarly refreshing take on the original. And I have to say, without revealing spoilers, that I completely agree with the protagonist. I’m on her side.

Kept me guessing, with each turn of the witch! Read this, I promise you’ll enjoy it!

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