The Brass Snorkel
The brass snorkel washed onto the shore of Point Judith, Providence, Rhode Island after a particularly nasty bout of storm cells that swept the east coast. It wedged in-between two large, slick, black rocks that were part of the erosion barrier that lined the walkway of the beach. This kind of weather pattern was typical for the New England summertime, as the coast entered its hurricane season. Some days, it seemed that the thrashing waves or the heavy rain would dislodge the snorkel and take it out to sea. Even so, the snorkel remained there for weeks, perfectly placed so that from almost every angle a passerby would be unable to spot it and it could remain hidden from the waves. Around week three, barnacles formed around the rim of the mouthpiece and the body of the tube. Around week five, the brass began to oxidize. By week ten, the snorkel was officially part of the ecosystem. By week fifteen, the summer ended, and the snorkel survived.
The brass snorkel wasn’t always by itself like this. At one point in its life, there was a mouth attached to that mouthpiece, saliva that ran along the edges of the tube, goggles that paired with it, and eyes that looked through the glass. It wasn’t necessarily a pleasant sensation for the snorkel, but it was one that made the snorkel feel like it mattered, since its existence was absolutely necessary for the existence of another being. After all, the mouth couldn’t feed the lungs without the tube of the snorkel connecting it to air. The brass snorkel was another appendage.
Now, the snorkel has been corroded with the sea, five months since it washed on shore. The tube became flabby and limp as it aged, and its existence wasn’t necessary for anyone. The brass snorkel could fall into the sea, and no one would notice. Neighboring teenage starfish gawked curiously at the snorkel one day after they became stuck to the slick, black rocks.
“How long has this guy been here?” one starfish said to the other.
“I dunno. He looks weird though,” the other responded.
“It’s not nice to say that other things look weird just because they look different.”
“Yeah, well. He looks weird.”
The brass snorkel knew he looked weird. The sea lapped the mouthpiece more so than the tube did, so the mouthpiece looks particularly horrifying in comparison. If someone tried to use the snorkel now, its body would probably crumple under the lips of whatever brave human dared to use him. The tube would fill with water, and the snorkel would be rendered completely useless. Litter started to accumulate around the rocks. He was in the same position as the soda bottle, no better than a plastic bag.
Did the snorkel want to be used? Was it better than this loneliness? Who was the snorkel without a human being to give air to? Was its only purpose to connect the sea to the air to the lungs of a human?
A year went by, and still the snorkel remained wedged in the rocks. Its mind dimmed with boredom and sadness, the erosion causing the snorkel to be completely frail.
He seemed about ready to crumble, when a pair of goggles washed onto the rocks next to him.
“Thank god you’re here. I missed you,” the goggles said. “Thank you for waiting for me.”