I call her Medusa

I call her Medusa. She saves me. The coils sprout and threaten Poseidon, who used his pure gold teeth to strip me bare—he almost succeeded. He may be the patriarch of water, but not even he can swim with us. Jump? I can’t jump. I can’t escape her and I don’t want to. The world above, below, is no longer for me. I need to swim. Swim far away with her, away from him. Medusa and I, both victims—no more. We take possession of His sea.

***

I wake up. Two officers in the white room. One clipboard ready to take my statement. I see his lips moving, but I can’t hear anything. I touch my breasts, wanting to feel my orange silk blouse and in one piece. He tore that too.

I sit up and search for her, the sea, and now know I don’t have her protection. I have to relive last night.

When they ask me, who did this to you, I’m tempted to say Poseidon. I don’t. If I am going to swim Medusa’s waters, I have to speak.

I give them a name.