Half Responsible

What Meets The Eye

She met him on the beach.

Sally Jackson had never been in a relationship before. She had crushes here and there, but never pursued them.  She didn't dare– why would she? There was nothing much about her life that other people could love. 

Her uncle Rich sucked out any happy moments of being a teenager that she could have had. Sally Jackson never got to go to prom or take a date to the high school game. She never got to sneak out to see whatever person she was seeing because there was no one to see. There was a first kiss – a dare during spin the bottle on the rare night she ever went out as a teenager, giving her the only sense of what could have been – but that was about it.

Now, she was 22. No prospects, no money, but she couldn't be a burden to her parents because, well, they were dead.

Montauk was the place her parents used to visit with her. This time, she went with her old high school friends, who made it evident that their lives were different. Some were getting married, others went to university and just graduated. 

And Sally? Well. That was what she asked herself.

The moonlight was the only source of light that night. Far away, her friends were skinny dipping, a little tipsy off whatever low-quality liquor they could buy. Sally had a drink or two but still had enough clarity to know she needed a moment for herself and some fresh air.

So she walked, and she allowed her thoughts to run.

Sally wanted so much. She wanted to go to college, have a place, write a book and share her stories with others. Sally found the old stories fascinating, the ones that talk about gods falling in love with mortals and having children. Were the gods alive and still falling in love? Were they siring children? It's not really romantic if you think about it. A gust of romance leads to you having a doomed life. Either way, it's not hers to have. Only fantasize.
 No, she couldn't play with what-ifs when she was busy taking side jobs. She wanted a life that belonged to her. Sally Jackson did not want people to determine what she should do.

Squeak. Squeeeeeek.

The sound of distress was high-pitched. The long body, more extensive than a van, lay on the sand. The ocean's cool water barely reached its poor body despite rising temperatures.

The whale could only do so much but cry. Sally ran up to the body and looked around frantically. What was the procedure? What do people in Montauk do?

The whale's eyes moved and looked right at her, a tear pooling at the corner.

Oh, by the gods, Sally thought. It needs help. I need to call for help.

She took off her denim jacket and dunked it in water. Wasn't the first thing she should do to ensure it didn't dry out?  After laying the now damp jacket onto the whale, she looked around frantically. 

There, a small phone. She could ring someone.

"I'll be right back, little whale," Sally ran her hands through her hair in frustration and ran right up to the payphone. She held the receiver in her hand. It connected to someone.

"Hello, this is Montauk police station how may I help you?"

"This is Sally Jackson, I am calling because there's a beached –"

"Oh! we know," the operator said dazily. "We already have someone on the scene."

"What? I am the only one here–"

Sally looked towards the whale.

There. There was a figure standing by the whale.

The operator hung up.