Odd Fish

Martha’s Vineyard. 1974.

First summer after high school, long after the fun of graduation and prom wore down and the ramp up to college was beginning. Friends since preschool had begun to disappear, out like the tide, to Boston University, up to Dartmouth, Northeastern and even further, far away from our little island.

I, however, only got into one place—The Crab Shack. Seaside bar and crab restaurant right in Martha's Vineyard. A place my dad used to take me when I was a little girl. Chewing on that day's fresh catch, he’d warn, “If you eat too much fish Liz, you're going to become one.”

Now he was gone but the shack was still here. Liver cancer came up from behind with its big sharp teeth and dragged my dad away six months prior. While friends and classmates were busy with college applications, I was with him in the hospital negotiating with nurses and lawyers. All the while my dad just stared out the window at the lapping water—his personal request to have a bed facing the ocean. Later his ashes would be scattered along the shore by the hospital, the same view from his room. And that was it. His life savings were now sitting in a bank account; a college fund left untouched for me. Didn’t even know what to do with it. All I knew was that he was gone and I was still here, same as the shack.

It was one sunny day at the beach, same as most days, and the crowd was pretty light. A group of men, clearly out-of-towners with shaggy hair and heavy, sweaty beards, sat at the table closest to the shore. I approached them slowly with their beer, moderately eavesdropping.

“The stupid thing broken down again last night. I don’t know what the hell we’re supposed to shoot tomorrow.” The one with the big glasses murmured.

“Ah, drinks! Very good.” Another cheered as I came up.

I smiled to the group as I began laying their beers on the table, barely touching the napkin before their eager hands yanked them up to their mouths.

“Hey Miss, are you from around here?” Big Glasses asked me.

“My whole life, yeah.”

“How often do you see sharks around here? Like big ones—maybe a great white?”

“Right now? Not likely. Around September, October maybe they’re really active. Chasing seals and stuff.” I replied, handing his beer to him directly.

“Shoot. Shoot. We should’ve pushed it a couple months, shoot the scene with an actual animal.” He turned back to the others, biting his hangnail.

My eyes widened. These weren’t just out-of-town tourists, these were Hollywood people. The local newspaper had been reporting on a movie being shot out all throughout Martha's Vineyard for the past couple months.

“Every once in awhile you hear word of one coming near shore.” I added, “But the just the potential is threatening enough for most non-locals.”

Big Glasses looked back at me enthusiastically.

“That’s exactly right! Just the suggestion of one is scary. Hey. We’re shooting a movie nearby and have a big crowd scene tomorrow. Would you want to be an extra? Pays well enough. Be good to have some real locals involved.”

I laughed out loud. I wished my dad was still here to see this. A Hollywood movie shooting on his waters, and I in it.

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” Why not? I hadn’t done anything fun since before the first diagnosis. I’d barely spoken to anyone that wasn’t a customer in months.

Big Glasses left the shoot details with a healthy tip on the table as they left. I folded the note and kept it in my breast pocket; my toes lifting off the ground the rest of the day like the note was a balloon.

I arrived to the set the next morning at 8am, filing into the blazing hot community center along with about one hundred other folks. Little tables and chairs were set up to hold us until it was time for the our scene. I took a chair in the back next to the only fan, chopping weakly through the thick summer heat.

Eventually the costume assistant came around to get us all in the right beach day outfit. She stopped at my table and I showed the only bathing suit I had, a orange and pink thing I fished out of a long-forgotten box in my closet.

“Perfect,” She said, “You’ll be a great tourist.”

A tourist in my own town. I imagined getting home at the end of the shoot day, seeing my dad in his old lazy boy chair and telling him I played a tourist. He would’ve spit out his beer laughing.

Hours passed until it was finally time for our scene. We funneled out onto the beach where a circus of crew members and camera equipment waited for us.

“OK who’s willing to get in the water? We need a bunch of people to be in the water running out. The rest can start on the beach.” A man shouted, and I recognized him from the Crab Shack the day before. I sheepishly raised my hand. I knew the water would be freezing, but at least I’d be expecting it. A few of the other hand-raisers and I cursed our way into the icy waves until we were about thigh deep.

From the shore, I saw Big Glasses raise a bullhorn to his mouth.

“Alright, so in this scene there’s a shark in the water. He’s been killing people, legs have been bitten off, and there’s blood all over the place.” He shouted at us. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

“Ready…and…background…action!” came the command and chaos erupted. The extras began screaming bloody murder, thrashing their hands around, tripped over each other and themselves to get to shore. I trotted behind, suppressing a smile right up until the “Cut!”

We went back to our starting positions and did it again. And again. And again. And each time, I couldn’t bring myself to pretend to be scared. I wasn’t. I was never afraid of sharks.

I looked back at the ocean, always looking for the point in the horizon when water became sky. Billions of gallons of water and a smidgeon of my father lay across the view before me. If not a shark, what was I afraid of? Leaving these waters. Leaving the past. Choosing a life forward. Choosing a career and betting my father’s whole life savings on it. Not knowing what my dad wanted for me. The fear that I'll never know who he wanted me to become.

I could run like hell from that, arms flailing.

Then, something in the water touched me. Not a fish…nothing alive, per se. But standing in the water, I felt something like a spark flick me and I suddenly recalled an old memory. One of my dad and I, making sandcastles on this very beach maybe ten years ago. The beaches were closed for a shark sighting so we were stuck on the shore.

“Why do sharks like to eat people so much?” I asked him.

“They don’t. They’re afraid of people. Same as me.” He replied and I giggled.

“You like sharks?” I said.

He nodded.

“Why?”

“They go after what they want. Singular focus. That’s what you should want to be like, Liz. A little shark.”

“And ready….just like that. One more time! You all are petrified! Complete panic!” The bullhorn call brought me back to reality. “Background…action!”

I had been panicked and petrified without a future for so long but now upon command, I couldn’t bear it a second longer. This time, I didn’t start running on “Action.” I watched the rest of the crowd scream and scramble.

I am the shark. I AM the shark.

I gave it a few seconds, gritted my teeth and took off, chasing the crowd from behind. Singular focus. I barrelled at full speed, knees up, through the water onto land.

“Cut!” The bullhorn called, “I think we got it! That was the best take!”

That evening after the filming wrapped and we all got to towel off and return home, I showered and changed into a sweater and jeans. After brewing some tea, I took my mug out onto my porch overlooking the glossy water. Along with it, a pen and paper. And there, I began to write my first college application letter.

Singular focus. Going after what I want. That’s what my dad wanted me to become.

A shark.