Katherine Jordak
I found out about Marion X. McMurphy two weeks
before my 4th grade class was going to Canada, but my genetic
hitchhiker surfaced the following weekend when I went to Florida with my Mom
and Dad.
The white foam rushed towards me as
I stood on the beach. I walked up to the refreshing water to wash the annoying
sand that had crept between my toes, but as I walked towards it, the ocean
started retreating to its original watery world. I chased it, and when I
reached it, I splashed, and jumped, and ran into the water. In order to catch
my breath, I sat down. My bright orange trunks filled with the cool and salty
water. Everything around me was salty, yet so sweet; the water, my skin, and
the crisp air that had cooled down after a scorching afternoon. I scooted off
of the sandbar, wanting to be deeper in the always-moving water.
“I claim this water,” I said in
barely a whisper, not wanting my dad to hear my childish statement. Was wanting
to have my own part of an ocean that bad?
Water I could control and hold in the palm of my hand, only to have it
slowly drip out, so that it could be filled with another handful. I loved this
water, but I would never tell my parents that. They were so good at keeping
what they loved, what they hated, and what they were jealous of to themselves,
so shouldn’t I? Whenever Mom gets
nervous about something, she does a puzzle. I can’t tell whether or not she
does it to express herself, or if it is a distraction. I guess you could say
that the mixture of the two is what the ocean is to me. I can put my feeling
into the ocean and distract myself with the sweet and salty water, too.
“Leo, it’s getting dark outside and
the ocean will be cold soon. It is time for you to get out, so we can go eat
the lovely dinner your Mom made.” I heard my Dad shout just as I was about to
swim farther out.
“Dad, I’m mature enough to stay out
here past 7. Please, just 10 more minutes?” I begged, already turning away from
him.
“ If you were mature, then you would
be out of the water by now.” I could feel the tension and anger leaking into
his voice. “Let’s go.”
“Why don’t you come in, Dad?”
“ I already took a shower. I’m not
about to come in today.” He said, disgusted. “If you don’t come out now, I’m
taking away your legos.” Fine, I
thought, take them all away. I
wiggled my fingers into the hardening sand, digging a hole. I had been hoping
to uncover a metal pole buried in the sand that I could hold onto, so that I
wouldn’t have to leave. My dad kept yelling out things that he would take from
me, and the whole time I felt like the waves around me were getting higher and
crashing down harder. I got up, kicked the water, and stormed out of my beloved
ocean. My Dad had started folding the beach chair he brought and taking down
the umbrella, and that’s when I thought of a good way to get back at him. I
grabbed the beach chair from his hand and ran back towards the ocean. I threw
it as hard as I could, but instead of watching it soar, I sprinted towards the
waiting car.
“We are never coming to the beach
with you again.” he said, his words racing after the heels of my feet. The back
seat door was open and I flopped inside and slammed the door shut, trying to
leave the words outside, but they were too fast. This would be the right time
to cry, but I was in no mood to show any weakness. Instead, I blamed the anger.
I couldn’t have been the one who threw the chair. McMurphy, I thought, the man
who ruined my life, my genetic hitchhiker. It was perfect, but back then
the naming of my anger was definitely unconscious.
We drove home in silence, McMurphy sitting on
my shoulders. I got home, was threatened about my punishment, and then sent
into my room for the night. I didn’t cry because I knew it wasn’t me they were
punishing; it was McMurphy. That night I slipped into my sheets. As I was
drifting off, McMurphy climbed off of my shoulders and into my veins, swimming
around inside of me. It was then that I realized that McMurphy was there to
stay.
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