Stingrays

English. "Use descriptive language. Try to use all five senses."

The ray swims up to me in the shallow tub. It has a visibly eager look about it, almost as though it were a dog, happy to see its owner coming home. But it is not a dog, and it certainly is not eager about my return. It has never seen me before. But something draws it towards me. It slips slowly and gently over the tile bed, like a snake through grass, but gliding more than slithering, more akin to the way a gull drifts on the wind. The ray flaps its wings as it slips its wide, flat head under my hand the way an attention hungry cat might press itself against your legs as you walk. It does it, however, with greater tenderness, seeming to understand that the world was not built for its entertainment in the way that a cat does not. Slowly, I run my fingers up the nose of the ray, between its seemingly unseeing light yellow eyes, over the hard bone of its head. Just as lightly as I traveled up the smooth, grey skin of the ray, I swoop my hand toward its tail, over its soft, tender back. It inches closer, begging to be touched once more by my warm hand in the cool water. I stroke the ray, again and again, my hand gliding quickly over the ray’s slippery skin. My deft motions, sloshing the water at my end of the wide, glass enclosure, rouse waves, sending the sweet yet sickeningly salty scent of the water up to me. I inhale deeply, tasting the redolent water at the back of my tongue, when my father approaches. Stirring me from my sea-struck trance with a gentle murmur, I notice the hum of the crowd pressing at out backs, eager as we were to taste the magic of a moment with the stingrays.