Aberystwyth spent the day she arrived at the Prairie Embassy Hotel within a twenty-foot radius of the white Honda Civic, during which time her mother failed to make a second appearance. To pass the time, Aby listened to music on the car radio, tried to acclimatize her legs and read parts of the Aquatic Bible she’d never read before. She discovered that Síðriin music was discordant, her legs were unwilling to accept the demands of gravity and, as far as the Aquatic Bible was concerned, she definitely hadn’t left the best parts to the last. For hours she watched a Siðri make tiny changes to a shack he was building beside the river. Even though Aby was in the middle of what she believed to be the most dramatic event of her life, she was completely bored.
That night, after taking great pains to clean the apple from the windshield and hood, Aby slept on top of the white Honda Civic since it was too hot to sleep inside it. Stretching across the hood and resting her back against the glass was much cooler and significantly more comfortable. Aby wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Four of her five nights on the road she’d slept folded into the back seat or cramped behind the wheel with her legs pressed against the dashboard.
But something much more significant than comfort resulted from this position: the slight upward tilt of Aby’s head created the perfect angle for watching the stars. Pabbi had described them in great detail, but she had forgotten all about it, and now they dazzled her completely. The clear, cloudless Prairie night sky was as beautiful as anything she’d seen underwater. Aby started to count the stars, but quickly gave up. As her legs dangled over the front edge of the hood and she continued to stare upwards, Aberystwyth managed to achieve something she never had before: thrum.
Aquatics believe that thrum is a meditative state that can diminish the distance to enlightenment, a sort of metaphysical shortcut. This highly coveted, yet nearly impossible, state allows you to see the events of your life as if they were someone else’s. As Aby remained on the hood of the stolen white Honda Civic, looking up, she became able to see her concerns and troubles, her successes and failures, her weaknesses and strengths, as if they belonged to a stranger. Aby, however briefly, was able to see her life not as its star but as its audience.
She recalled the end of each of her significant relationships and then separated what was her fault and what was theirs. She worked through career decisions, friendships that had ended badly and opportunities missed. She saw her mistakes and did not flinch. She recognized her victories and did not gloat. She made observations about her character. Things that would normally have made her feel pathetic and weak became simply things to improve. Her skin turned a deep, rich green that in the moonless Prairie evening appeared almost black.
And then she began to think of her mother. Things for Aby were never the same after her mother’s excommunication. Being stuck in a hick town like Nowwlk had been at least novel while her mother’s fame increased, but to be stuck there as an outcast was completely intolerable. Yet when they moved back to Alisvín-bær, things didn’t get any better. Even in a city as large as this one, her mother’s infamy preceded them. Neither of her parents could find work. Aby watched as they started to fight more and more often, trying to hide it from her less and less. Then her mother started coming home later and later in the evening. Although they tried to hide it, Aby knew her parents had begun sleeping in separate beds. Soon they were rarely in the same room, and when they were, both her mother and her father were stiff and formal.
One night Aby woke up to the sounds of them fighting. Their voices were louder and carried more anger than usual. Creeping out of bed, Aby swam to the top of the stairs and listened. When her parents begin to talk in whispers, she snuck to the first landing. She couldn’t make out every word, but the one she did hear was “unwatered.” Aby returned to her bed, but she did not sleep.
Three days later, Aby came home and found two suitcases just inside the front door. One was her mother’s. The other was hers. Stepping into the foyer, Aby closed the door with force, which brought her mother swimming down from the second floor. Margaret did not speak as she descended. She watched the webbing between her fingers. On the main floor, she bobbed very close to Aby, but they both looked at their feet. Finally, Margaret looked up, although her daughter did not. “Aby, I have to go,” Margaret said.
“You can’t let them do this to you.”
“It’s not about them. It’s what I have to do.”
“What about us?”
“No way.”
“Why won’t you?”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!”
“It’s not about you.”
“It should be.”
“Do you think this is easy for me?”
“Yes,” Aby said, and although her arms remained crossed, her jaw unclenched and the edges of her gills quivered.
“I have to go.”
“No, you don’t!” Aby yelled. Grabbing her mother’s suitcase, she swam into the living room and raised it over her head. The contents spilled out. Her mother’s clothes floated through the water.
“I have to go,” Margaret said.
“It’s not right. You’ll die there. You’ll be sála-glorsol-tinn!”
“It’s not true.”
“What if it is?”
Margaret did not reply. One of her dresses floated in front of her, but Margaret did not reach out for it. She turned, opened the front door and swam through it. Aby watched as the door closed, then looked down at her suitcase sitting in the hallway by itself.
Aberystwyth’s thrum concluded with this memory. She came out of it blinking. Less than a minute had passed. She did not move, not even her head. Although her thrum had shown her many things, one question remained unanswered: Was she here to help her mother, or herself?