MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE by MARCIA SHERMAN
I
t was advertised as free, but there is no such thing as free. There is always a payment of some sort. The fee for this treatment might be considered steep by some. She was not told that until after she had arrived and been settled in. Oh, there was the usual escape clause. The first week she was free to leave at any time. But then, of course, she would have remained as she began. And wasn’t that the whole idea? To end as different? The reason she was doing this was to better herself, to become what she wished for. To become what he needed. Her family had tried to talk her out of it. Only one other in her community had ever gone all the way through the treatment, and he had never been seen again. Afterwards, it was said, he and his love went away and were married. So it was told. Every argument about it ended with this: They would all be better off because all her sorrow, and the sadness they felt for her, would stop. Even if her family did not support her, the look in his eyes when she told him of this possibility was all the encouragement she needed. The first night she lay in the bed under the window, so like a child’s bed with sides up to prevent falling, and she looked at the stars. Waves lapped the shore outside while she contemplated her options. Three nights she listened to the sea. On the morning of the fourth day, she was sure. Even as she decided there was a tap at the door and they entered. The two of them: check here, check there, mark this. You will be able to read the entire contract later. Here are your copies, witnessed and notarized. A few explanations of the rules and they left her alone again, with one big surprise. She was to be paid, and handsomely so. She thought her reward was the treatment. But no, they actually paid for leaving behind old ways. How about that? That took a little of the sting out of it. It was not painful; well, not too painful. Sure, some adjustments. Dizziness, bone tired, thirst–water never tasted so good. A little nausea. By the end of the tenth day she was able to walk steadily to the toilet. A few days later she could make it to the kitchen without hugging the walls like a barnacle. Clothing was provided, clean and soft. Cotton lined shoes, as light as sea foam. Nice of them to realize her skin would be sensitive. Any and all wants and needs had been thought of. Naturally, for they had been doling out these treatments for ages. Daily exercise was required in the contract. She walked barefoot up and down the beach in front of the weathered little house. She rested on the porch and watched the storms over the ocean–they looked different somehow. Three weeks in, her appetite returned. The food in the larder was fresh and plentiful. She grew especially fond of salad greens and fruit. The fish she discovered to be too oily. The sweets made her teeth ache. 76
