The Siren

“She’s not a person,” I pointed out. “Of course She’s hard to understand.”

“Back to the matter at hand: Aisling, don’t you think it’s possible to interact with humans without consequence?” Elizabeth pressed.

Aisling smiled to herself, her eyes fixed on a blank space in the air. “Definitely. In fact, I think seeing lives that actually change and have seasons has added to my life even though I can’t change myself. It’s about knowing your limits, I think.” She drew her gaze back to Elizabeth. “It seems to me Kahlen knows hers, so maybe we should respect them.”

“Well, it seems to me like she’s miserable and would be much happier if she stepped out into the real world every once in a while.” Elizabeth grinned, a snippy smile that wasn’t asking for a fight but let us all know she still thought she knew best.

“Along the same lines,” Miaka said, straightening up. “Skydiving. Would you do it, Aisling?”

Aisling laughed nervously. “I don’t like heights, so probably not.”

Miaka nodded. “I admit, the falling would be weird. But I want to see the world from above.”

“You’ve seen wars, watched countries disappear and re-form. You have experienced more seasons of fashion than most people can remember. We walked the Great Wall, you rode an elephant … For goodness’ sakes, Elizabeth took us to see the Beatles!” I reminded her. “Do you really need anything more?”

Miaka beamed. “I want to see everything.”

We passed the rest of our visit talking about paintings Miaka had made, books I had read, movies Elizabeth had seen. Aisling really meant it when she said she enjoyed watching the lives around her, and she told us how the best baker in town was finally closing her shop and how there was a boom recently in people hired as dog walkers. It was all a bunch of nothing to me, but everything to these strangers who were living it.

“I wish I had a talent like you, Miaka,” Aisling lamented after hearing her theories on adrenaline and art. “I feel like I don’t have anything to say. Right now, my life is very still.”

“You really are welcome to stay with us,” I offered again.

She leaned into me, our heads touching. “I know. It just seems like life is very fast these days. I won’t have this quiet much longer. I think I’ll miss it.”

“Fast?” I questioned. “What are you doing that makes the years pass any faster than a crawl?”

“I agree with Aisling, actually. Everything is fast,” Elizabeth commented. “There’s not enough time to do everything I want. But I love it!”

After a few hours, Elizabeth got antsy, so I politely said it was time to get home. Aisling held me back as Miaka and Elizabeth headed toward the water.

“I can’t tell you what to do, but I know how much our work haunts you. If the way you’ve been living for eighty years isn’t making you feel better, maybe it’s time to try something different.”

“But what if I mess up?”

She squeezed my hand. “You’re too good to mess up. And if you did, you are the most likely to be pardoned. She loves you. You know that.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Any time. I’ll come visit soon.”

She trotted back into the house, and I considered her advice while I watched her through the window as she began the process of making another pie.

I smiled to myself. Aisling had nothing to lose or gain by telling me to change my habits, which made me trust her. So I held my feelings and worries and questions in my heart, considering if maybe there was a way for me to make my final stretch of this life any easier.

4 (#uf00fb987-a2ff-569a-80e8-8a353270643b)

I spent the majority of the following evening letting Miaka curl my hair. I didn’t understand the way my sisters lived their lives, and I wasn’t sure it was wise, but I’d never really tried to walk a mile in their heels. Tonight, I would.

“What do you think of this one?” Elizabeth held up another dress. Basically, everything she showed me looked like a short tube of fabric, only in a different color.

“I don’t know. It’s not quite my style.”

She cocked her head. “That’s kind of the point. You can’t go to a club looking like a fifties housewife.”

I wrinkled my nose. “It’s a bit … revealing, don’t you think?”

Miaka chuckled as Elizabeth widened her eyes in frustration. “Yes. Very. Just put it on, okay?” She tossed the dress at me, and it landed in a heap on my lap. “I’m going to get dressed,” she called, rushing out of the room.

I held back a sigh. After all, I was trying to be enthusiastic. Maybe tonight would usher in a new beginning in my life.

“We should do your hair like this more often,” Miaka said, prompting me to turn to the mirror.

I gasped. “It’s so full!”

“A few hours of dancing will deflate it.”

I leaned in, studying my face. I’d gotten used to the natural beauty that came with being a siren. Miaka’s artful strokes of eyeliner and lipstick magnified it by ten. I could see why boys practically formed a line for Elizabeth’s attention.

“Thanks. You did great.”

She shrugged. “Any time.” Then she leaned in toward the mirror to do her own face.

“So what do we do when we get there?” I asked. “I don’t know how to act in a crowded room.”

“There’s not a step-by-step program on how to go out and have a good time, Kahlen. We’ll probably get a drink and scope out the crowd. Elizabeth will be looking for someone for sure, but you and I can just dance with each other.”

“I gave up understanding how young people dance about thirty years ago. The Electric Slide was the final nail in the coffin for me.”

“But dancing’s so fun!”

I shook my head. “No. The jitterbug was fun. But actually having rhythm and holding your partner’s hand isn’t popular anymore.”

Miaka pulled the mascara wand away from her face, trying not to poke her eye while she laughed. “I swear, if you try to whip out the jitterbug tonight, Elizabeth will kill you.”

“Good luck with that,” I muttered. “Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that I might not be on the dance floor too much.”

Miaka’s gaze met mine in the mirror. “I’m happy you’re going somewhere that isn’t a library or a park, but I’m not sure it’s really taking a chance if you just sit there.”

“Ta-da!” Elizabeth sang, bursting into the room. Her dress was black and short, and she was wearing the shoes she referred to as “stripper heels.” “So?”

I smiled. “What can I say? You could stop traffic.”

She beamed, fluffing her hair with a hand. “I found this,” she said, bringing something over to me.

It was another short dress, but it had a thin layer of tulle from the waist down. And, yes, it was covered with sequins, but it was closer to my style than anything else she’d shown me.

I smiled. “Thanks. This is the one.”