The second time I saw the mermaid, she was singing.
Now, when most people think of a singing mermaid, they think of the red-haired songstress with a penchant for hoarding, bewitching siren songs, etc.
This was more like… well, imagine an old cat yowling for dinner. Scratchy, off-key and off-putting.
She was in the water this time, her back to me, and she was splashing while squawking a familiar tune.
“Are… are you singing Crocodile Rock?” I asked from the shore.
She gasped and submerged, then resurfaced about twenty feet away, scowling.
“Are you following me?” she hissed, her sea green eyes seemed to glow from the sun reflecting off of the water.
I pointed down the beach. “I am living in one of the beach houses for the summer, I just walk the beach a lot.”
“Whatever. Get a life.”
She was gone with a flick of her strong tail, leaving a wake of bubbles and Elton John stuck in my head.
The first time I saw the mermaid she pretended not to see me.
I inched closer, trying to catch her attention without startling her back into the water. She continued to sunbathe in the golden sand, lightly rocking her fin back and forth as she sorted sea glass.
I cleared my throat.
Her eyes flicked my direction for an instant, then went back to the piles of glass shards. She began to hum softly and flipped her hair.
Taking another step closer, I waved.
Again her eyes darted towards me, and a look of irritation flashed over her lovely face. She shoved her treasures into a woven grass bag, and wriggled into the water with ease.
She surfaced briefly, to look at me over her shoulder, brows low with disdain. Then she was gone.
Ignored then rejected, I stood lonely and alone.
It was like high school all over again.