My husband is a dolphin.

In High School AP Literature and Composition, I was required to read a book called As I Lay Dying. Or was it my sister who read it? To be honest I can’t remember. There were so many books I had to read throughout High School - a few that I read, some that I skimmed, and most that I only read spark notes - that they tend to get jumbled in my head. Regardless, I remember one part from this particular book, and one part only: an entire chapter comprised of only five words: “My mother is a fish”.

I remember being both confused and intrigued by this sentence. It contained no explanation, no context. It seemed that William Falkner, the author, didn’t feel the need to explain. The metaphor was stated as a simple fact.

Until Saturday, I had completely forgotten this book, this sentence, and really most of my AP Literature and Composition class. But Saturday, two days ago, I realized:

My husband is a dolphin.

Don’t worry. I won’t be rude like Mr. Faulkner, and make you guess my meaning and/or create a logical context. No, the revelation was quite fantastic, actually.

Bronson woke us up early that morning, with a punch to McDreamy’s face, and a nice jump on my bladder. 7:30, sharp. Bronson is better than an alarm clock. My McDreamy looked at me, sheepishly; almost apologetically. He said “Heidi…”, and I could tell something was on his mind. Trying to read it, as usual, I sighed “yes, I know, you’ve got to go study. Can we just cuddle thirty more minutes?” He chuckled nervously, “Ummm…no actually, it’s blowing 23 knots out today. Wanna go kite?”

I immediately and excitedly approved, as it was exam week, and Dev had been studying late every day for the past two weeks. We were out of the house, swimsuited, sunscreened, and PB&Jed, in a matter of minutes.

The beach was deserted. I’ve never seen it so empty. We had arrived before Rauren and his kite instructors, who practically live at that spot, had even shown up. Dev usually waits until they arrive with the chase boats before going out, but there seemed to be something in his eyes this time – an aching, yearning, pleading. He hadn’t been kiting in a long time. And he didn’t have much time to play – he had to get back to studying.

So he strung up his kite and went out alone.

And as he made his first tack, I saw the first rubbery fin peel out of the water.

Dolphins. Eight of them. In the shallow waters. Maybe 30 feet away from me, on the shore with Bronson. Playing in Dev’s kiteboard wake.

Now, just so you realize the significance of this appearance, we know people here on Bonaire that have lived here for five years, and never seen a dolphin. Yes, we live on an island, where we see sea turtles, moray eels, even barracudas, regularly. But not dolphins.  And definitely not close.

I immediately began crazily waving my arms in what I considered to look like dolphin jumping movements, and shouting ‘Dev’ as loud as my vocal cords would allow. I have only seen dolphins once here before, and they vanished as soon as we spooted them. I was afraid the same would happen this time, and I couldn’t bear my McDreamy being so close, amd not being a part of the experience. As soon as I finally caught his attention, and pointed out the ~flap my arms~ (luckily he proved very good at deciphering my exuberant sign language), I darted for my camera, a good 100 yards away, up the beach. Panting and readjusting Bronson on my hip, I watched and recorded in awe, as my McDreamy tacked in and out of the pack, reaching down and almost touching their slippery bodies as he passed. I wondered why they didn’t swim away. Surely this kite and board were things unknown and intimidating to these beautiful, wild creatures. But then I realized: they are just as excited about this as Dev is. They were racing him, trying to touch his board, and jumping his wake. They were acting in the same enthusiastic, excited-as-a-school-boy manner as Dev does during and after a wakeboard, kiteboard, surf, snowboard, etc. session. Neither of them, the dolphins nor my husband (nor me, really), wanted the fun to end, so they played together for three spectacular hours. It wasn’t until there were ten other kites on the beach and in the air that the pack finally retreated, leaving Dev alone in his playground. And I realized:

My husband is a dolphin.

He works hard, but then he plays hard. And his favorite playground is the water. To deprive him of it, is to steal a piece of his soul away. Just like a dolphin. 

Thanks, William Faulkner. I think I finally understand.