Belinda's Rings (29 page)

That's when I decided I wanted to be a marine biologist. I read that book cover to cover. Then I took out a whole bunch of other sea-life books from the public library. I dug up the boxes of Wiley's old
National Geographic
s in the basement and went through every single one looking for underwater photographs in coral reefs and deep-sea trenches.

I dreamt of squid. I kept having the same dream where I was swimming in the hotel pool in Miami and I felt something brush up against my legs, but when I looked down into the water there was nothing there. I tried to swim away but something was holding me by the ankle. Somehow I knew it was a giant squid, in camouflage with the clear blue water. Invisible. I kept kicking my legs but the squid held on, and then it began to swell up like a sponge, larger and larger, until the whole pool filled up with slimy squid flesh. I was trying to climb out but I kept slipping and sliding on the squid and falling on my face and getting squid juice in my mouth. The swelling flesh rose up around me like a thundercloud — and then I'd wake up.

I made the mistake of telling Jess about the dream and of course she looked it up in her dream dictionary, even though I've told her over and over that I don't believe in that psychoanalysis crap.

Let's see, she said, finding the page and running her finger down the list. Here it is — Squid. If you see a squid in your dream, you may be feeling unconsciously threatened.

'Kay, I said. Big whoop.

Wait, Jess said, there's more. Your judgment might also be clouded.

This stuff's so bogus, I said. It's like horoscopes. Everything they say is so wishy-washy that it'd be easy for anyone to convince themselves, Oh yeah, that's totally me.

Jess just ignored me. Alternatively, she said, a squid can also symbolize greed. You may be thinking about yourself while disregarding the needs of others. Oh wait — there's also something here about eating squid . . .

I wasn't eating it, I said.

Didn't you say you got some in your mouth? It says here that — Ugh, just forget it, I said. I don't believe in this stuff anyway.

Eating squid indicates that you are feeling self-conscious, and you worry about how others perceive you.

Oh my God, I said. Can we stop now?

Fine, Jess said. She tossed the book on her bed. She had a little smile on her face, as if she'd just learned some dirty secret about me. That look always makes me steam like a hot sausage. I threw a hissy-fit and stormed out of her room, which probably made her think she was even more right. It's not like I cared, anyway. I mean, who
isn't
self-conscious? Certainly not Jess, Miss I-talk-to-myself-in-the-mirror.

I had the squid dream a few more times after that. I wouldn't call it a nightmare because by then I'd decided that squid were pretty much the coolest creatures on earth. And probably the neatest thing about them is that no matter how hard scientists and oceanographers try, they still don't know much about them. There was one oceanographer who tried attaching cameras to the backs of sperm whales on the slim chance that they might come into contact with a squid. Surprise surprise, it didn't work. And as much as I like learning new things about deep-sea creatures, I'm glad the squid is still so mysterious. It makes the things we do know seem like treasures.

My absolute favourite thing to tell people about squid is that they have not one, but THREE hearts. Nobody believes me at first when I tell them that. They think I'm making it up. I admit, it does seem kind of excessive. Why would a squid need three separate hearts when most other sea creatures get by just fine with one? Well, the reason is that squid need to circulate lots of blood in order to breathe at such low depths. They have one main heart that takes care of most of the body, and two smaller hearts, like mirrors of each other, that feed the gills on either side. Now, most people ask me why they don't just have one big heart that pumps more efficiently instead. I don't really know the answer to that. I've never been able to find it. But sometimes, just 'cause it's more fun than saying I don't know, I'll say, Because three is my lucky number. That's what I said to Rose, but she just clucked her tongue the way her mom does when her dad makes a corny pun.

Right, she said. 'Cause that makes a whole lotta sense. I guess that's also supposed to explain why you're wearing three rings?

I shrugged. They're my Mum's, I said. I can't decide which one I like best.

Well, she said, you could at least wear them on different fingers.

Yeah, I said, maybe. But I didn't want to. I'd been wearing them for long enough that there was a slight indent in my finger, as if the rings were starting to fuse with my skin. When I took them off it looked like some of my finger was missing. The skin that the rings usually covered was smooth and shiny, like the scar left by a bad burn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Many books and articles were instrumental in helping me to understand the culture and controversies surrounding crop circles. Particularly useful were:
Crop Circles: Exploring the
Designs and Mysteries
by Werner Anderhub and Hans-Peter Roth; “Anatomical anomalies in crop formation plants,” published in
Physiologia Plantarium
(92) by W.C. Levengood;
Secrets in the Fields: The Science and Mysticism of Crop Circles
by Freddy Silva; and
Crop Circles: The Greatest Mystery of
Modern Times
by Lucy Pringle. The crop circle illustrations in this book were inspired by the drawings of Leora Franco, featured in Pringle's book.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wrote this novel during my time at the University of New Brunswick, where I had the unfailing support of my fellow graduate students, professors, and administrators in the English department. I cannot thank them enough for all that I learned and experienced in those two short years. I am indebted to John Ball, who helped shape this book from the very first chapter, and believed in the strength of my story even when I did not. I was honoured to receive the insightful critical perspectives of Mark Jarman, Jennifer Andrews, and Heather Sears. Many thanks to Fred Stenson for his comments on early chapters, and to Eden Robinson for marathon-reading my first draft and sharing her wizardry for structure. I greatly appreciate the assistance provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

Thank you to everyone at NeWest, and especially Doug Barbour for knowing exactly which questions to ask.

I would not have become a writer if not for Linda Bialek, Suzette Mayr, Nicole Markotić, and Aritha van Herk. You were far more than teachers to me, and you continue to inspire me in everything I do.

To my partner, Andrew: I could not have done this without you. And finally, to my family, in all your various incarnations: thank you for being the place where I belong.

CALGARY-BORN CORINNA CHONG
is a writer, editor, and graphic designer based out of Kelowna, B.C. Her writing has appeared in
Grain, NōD, Echolocation,
and
The Malahat
Review.
She currently teaches English Literature at Okanagan College and edits
Ryga: A Journal of Provocations.