Pelican and Me

             Misfortune struck this morning, our boat and captain were lost at sea. Yesterday, I saw a small child and two lifeguards beat to death by rocks in the riptide. A nihilist case study, live in Puerto Rico. After the boat fiasco, kayaks were the only remaining vessel.  Launching from the small fishing town of La Parguera, we headed for the mangrove cays off the coast. Let me be precise.  

“Cayo Caracoles is a picturesque mangrove cay and sandbar in the calm, clear waters of La Parguera” (Google. (2026). Google AI (Jan. 2026 version) [Large language model]. google.com.).

These “Picturesque” cays make for a nice post card, but in person it was no more than a drinking hole for the affluent. Yacht speakers drowned out the ocean itself. The ocean was displaced by sunscreen, and the reefs were in a losing battle against human waste. When we arrived at Isla Mata la Gata, we tied our boats off to a sad Mangrove branch and prepared to explore the shallow waters. Foot traffic had created an underwater desert, devoid of life. From the desolate sands, we waded through invasive junk, the foul monoculture curated by human interference. Far from the commotion, aquatic balance emerged. Small sea anemones innocently waved us by, and fish flittered around us in curiosity. Here on out we swam, as to not trample this trying community. Tough fish patrolled these waters, generations trained to withstand the ph warfare, taking shelter in collapsing structures. I swam past Baltimore and Cincinnati, residents looking at me through their gaunt stare. I passed by Newark, keeping my eyes lowered and swam on by. Now Queens, walking through South Jamica. My luck was running thin, I resurfaced.

We grew sick of the crowd and set course for a lonely island due east. After the noise, noise, noise of the yachters, the comfort of shade and the sound of water was plenty. Drifting into the twisting mangroves, we let the waves tuck us in. My eyes closed. The drift of pure thought expanded and contracted, in and out. It harmonized with the tide. In the perfect sound of water rushing though coral and mangrove, I was released. The mangroves, coral, water, universe. One entity, suspended in perfect balance. My eyes opened. There was the Pelican. He, attention split, between me and the Red Snapper below. His honesty was contagious, so I matched his silence and gazed steadily into his black, certain eyes. Certain of what I asked myself? It was not just his eyes. The webbing and talons of his prehistoric feet looked clumsy at first glance, but I found them to be as expert as a jeweler’s fingers upon a closer examination. His gular pouch twitched in anticipation as he eyed his prize. He certainly knew. Every twitch was dialed, his birdlike reflexes did not deteriorate with size. He kept me under his watchful eye, never wasting his precious moments. This was the most selfish creature I ever laid eyes upon. I loved him. I loved him for his most beautiful and certain quality. He could not love me.