Almost, But Not Yet
Otis carried the little white shell down to the water's edge. Mo walked beside him, slow as always. The tide was far out. The rock pools sat still and quiet, like small rooms with the lights off. Otis knelt by the nearest one. Inside, a soft green flower was shut up tight. Somewhere above them, a drop of water fell from the rock into the pool. Plink. "Good morning," Otis whispered. The green flower did not move at all.
Otis set the shell down on the warm rock. He cupped water in his hands and poured it in. Plink, plink. The flower stayed closed. He tapped the stone gently with one finger. He blew on the water to make it ripple. Nothing opened. Mo breathed out, long and slow, and settled himself on the sand. Otis sat down beside him and pulled his knees up. "Not yet, Mo," he said. "Almost, but not yet."
The drop fell again. Plink. Otis listened for the next one. It came slowly, as if the pool were thinking. Far out, the sea breathed in and out along the sand. A hermit crab crossed the pool floor, carrying his house on his back. Otis watched him all the way to the other side. Mo blinked his slow eyes. The water had not come closer. Or perhaps it had, just a little. Otis laid one finger on the wet rock and waited.
Then Otis filled the shell with seawater and carried it back. He poured it in. Plink. He went again, and again, and again. His shell was small and the pool was not. The green flower stayed shut, like a fist. Otis sat down in the warm sand, out of breath. He set the shell where the rock was dry. Mo did not hurry him. "Not yet, Mo," Otis said. "Almost, but not yet."
The moon came up behind them, round and pale as a plate. Otis found seven colours in the pool: green, brown, pink, silver, grey, gold, and one he had no name for. A tiny fish turned over like a leaf. Plink, said the drop. The wet sand made small bubbles, as if it were breathing too. Mo tucked in his feet and closed one eye. Otis leaned against his warm shell and watched the water.
Then something cool touched Otis's toes. The sea had crept up while he wasn't looking. A thin finger of water slid over the rock and into the pool. Then another. The pool grew deeper. Seaweed lifted and floated out like hair. Plink went the drop, and the sea answered with a hush. Mo raised his head. Otis held very still. He did not tap. He did not blow. He only watched.
The green flower moved. First one petal, then another, then all of them at once, opening slow as a yawn. It was not a flower at all. It was a small soft animal, waving its arms in the water. All along the rocks the other pools were opening too, pink ones and orange ones and little pale stars. The whole shore woke up without making a sound. "There you are," Otis whispered.
Otis lowered his shell into the pool, near the open one, where the water could keep it. The tide came up warm around his knees. The moon lay on the sea in a long white road. Plink, said the last drop, and then the pool was too full to hear it. Mo swam close and turned his shell toward Otis. Otis climbed on and held gently. The water lifted them both.
Mo carried him out over the shallows, slow as always. Warm water slipped by underneath, dark and full of sleeping things. Otis lay down along the ridge of Mo's shell. The stars came out one by one, in no hurry at all. "Not yet, Mo," Otis said softly. "Almost, but not yet." Then his eyes closed, and Mo swam on, carrying him through the quiet water.
