JAWS

Every once in a while a writer just perfectly nails our FEELINGS about a book, and straight out of the gate, this story by Joe Wadlington delivers. In a sea (sorry) of shark jokes, Joe latched on to all the false male bravado and suburban housewife ennui so typical of the denizens of Long Island, which is a thing I am allowed to say because I am from there, and now you know my terrible secret.—AMY

“10,000 Leagues Under the D” by Joe Wadlington

The Amity courthouse walls were sweating—a combination of summer heat and small towners turned on by controversy.

“We can’t close the beach!” the crowd yelled. Police Chief Brody held up a cautionary hand.

“That shark killed a white man yesterday—we can’t ignore it anymore,” he said.

“Please, Brody! Can’t we just wait until another kid dies?! Amity is a summer town. We need summer money!” one man said.

“Are you asking me to turn a blind eye to a horrific massacre so that your businesses can thrive?” Brody said.

“It’s July Fourth—what could be more patriotic than that?” the mayor said.

The crowd erupted into homogenous agreement, until a bottle of white wine was shattered on the chalkboard. Silence.

Ellen sloshed her glass of Chardonnay.

“It’s not just any shark—it’s a great white,” she said.

“At least it’s white,” the innkeeper murmured.

The mayor stepped forward. “How do you know?” he asked.

“I read my kids’ Zoo Books when they’re at school,” Ellen said. “The bite marks from the chunks of the victim match, and great whites migrate here in the summer.”

“They spend winter in Florida?” someone asked.

“Farther south,” Ellen clarified. The crowd’s faces got scrunched and puffy as they tried to think of Geography outside the United States.

“Mexico. It’s from Mexico!” one brave voice said.

“That shark wants our jobs!” the mayor erupted.

“What? No,” Ellen said. “It just follows the fish. Why do you feel so threatened?”

The mayor stood to his full height and glared.

“I’m a man! I always feel threatened!” he bellowed.

Ellen covered her face. She hated life in Amity. It was too small. She was jealous of the summer visitors—people who had P.F. Chang’s in their towns and cute coffee shops with that classy shit in the tiny cups. Ellen had once been on her way to a fulfilling career—now she just did Kegels in the grocery line and waited for her husband to tell her dinner was good. She only came to the meeting because she thought they were getting a Whole Foods.

“Ellen, you’re the most bitter character on the island. You have to kill this shark for us,” the mayor said.

“Then what?” Ellen asked.

“Well, hopefully it’s the only shark in the ocean and then we’re done,” the mayor said.

“Unless that shark has the last fifteen years of my life in its belly, I don’t give a fuck,” she said.

“Ellen, if you kill the shark, we’ll build a Super Target.”

Ellen was taken aback. They’d denied the permit for years. She choked back tears with a swig of Chardonnay.

“Add an in-store Jamba Juice and I’m out of here.”

“Deal!” the mayor said.

Ellen threw her wineglass at the shark drawing and put her face exactly where the little sharky ears would be. She whispered, “You think you’re dead on the inside? I’m from Long Island.”

The boat swayed gently with the waves. Ellen’s character didn’t have an identity outside of wife or motherhood, so Chief Brody came along to give her context. They sat in the cabin taking shots of white Zinfandel, making out, and comparing scars.

Brody ripped open his shirt. A scar slashed across his hairy barrel chest. It was from their first date, when Ellen blacked out and thought Brody was a ghost from the Civil War. Ellen stroked the scar. They hadn’t touched in a long time. It was nice to be away from the kids—whatever their names were.

“Now, I want to see your biggest scar,” Brody said.

“If I could rip out my heart, I’d show ya—but my character doesn’t express feelings besides weeping. I was an eighties lady, Brody. Shoulder pads, thick belt, hair to Jesus. The testicles of my entire company were below my stiletto and my company LIKED it. Then I met you, put on Jordache jeans so high-waisted that I stopped breathing—woke up fifteen years later with two kids yelling at me for being ‘bad at texting.’ One day you’re ignoring a French triathlete because he’s only a primary care physician, and the next you’re at T.J. Maxx, doing Kegels and looking for discount Spanx that can convincingly fit under a one-piece,” Ellen said.

“Can you even get Spanx wet?” Brody asked.

“No, Brody, there’s no love in this world,” Ellen said.

Brody hadn’t realized how distracted he’d been the last few years. Ellen had streaks of silver in her hair now and new wrinkles in her face from all the shit he did to her. She was just as beautiful as she’d been on their wedding day. He started kissing her hard and unsnapped her mom jeans. The boat slammed to the side and they went tumbling. Another slam and the ship’s hull started leaking. Another slam—the boat was sinking—and fast. Ellen and Brody crawled to the deck. The massive shark was circling the boat, fucking with them.

Ellen grabbed the harpoon gun and Brody pulled out his pistol. Brody sunk a few bullets in the shark before it slammed into the boat again, sending them flying. The mechanism on the harpoon gun broke completely and Brody’s pistol went overboard.

The back of the boat had broken off. The shark was weighing it down. It snapped and snapped at them, swallowing the inner tubes, oxygen tanks, and white wine bottles that rolled toward it. It flashed a smile that was ten feet across, then retreated to deliver a final blow.

Brody started making out with Ellen immediately.

“What, are you doing?!” she exclaimed.

“You have to shoot it with the harpoons!” Brody said between kisses.

“It’s broken,” Ellen said.

“No, we need more force than that,” Brody said, handing her a harpoon. “Use your Kegels.”

Ellen’s eyes grew wide as her husband dropped to his knees, immediately swabbing her deck.

“Don’t stop!” she said.

Brody’s tongue moved in double time with the waves. Ellen was fully sitting on him now and opening compartments of herself that had been closed for years. Brody was so hard his pants looked like they had a dorsal fin. He lay Ellen down and handed her the blunt end of the harpoon. She moved the smooth pipe in gently and let her body engulf it.

When Ellen saw her new harpoon dick, she felt comforted—as if she’d always had a horrifying penis but now others could finally see it too. And, thankfully, the shark was taking a really fucking long time to come back.

Brody knelt around Ellen, kissing her and moving the harpoon gently. She got so wet it made the boat sink faster. The shark started rocketing toward them. Ellen’s body was bent in pleasure as they moved the harpoon faster and faster. Her howls rose like sonar until both she and the shark couldn’t be any closer.

When Ellen saw her new harpoon dick, she felt comforted—as if she’d always had a horrifying penis but now others could finally see it too. And, thankfully, the shark was taking a really fucking long time to come back.

“THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE!!!” Ellen roared. Her orgasm tidal waved and her Kegels threw the harpoon like an Olympic javelin. It went straight into the shark’s open mouth, cutting the oxygen tank in half and blowing the bastard to pieces.

The two lovers didn’t skip a beat. As bloody shark confetti covered them, Brody entered Ellen and they bucked and bucked with the new waves. Ellen looked at the sinking boat, the pool of blood, and her handsome husband. I can have it all, she thought peacefully.