Travel

The jellyfish lay flat on the beach, wiped out from the journey. First, she was in Japan, then Ecuador, now here, somewhere south of Tijuana, judging by the tide’s flavor. There’d been an earthquake recently, and another on the way. She tasted that too, an ashy note. Jellyfish are terrific gourmands, something most people don’t know. Real connoisseurs some of them. Her mother, a Peruvian by birth, made a habit of following the tides for apples and pears. Her father preferred seabirds. The jellyfish? A shark woman. Tastes like steak. She hopes to find some here. That’s part of why she came. That and anxiety.

Goals

The jellyfish hit Send on the job application, hoping for the best. Long-range missile engineer would be a stretch, but a good stretch, she thought, for her skill set. There were already over one hundred applications, but the jellyfish’s friend, a starfish who worked in quality at the plant, had contacted the hiring manager on the jellyfish’s behalf. Now it was a matter of waiting, another ninja-level skill of the jellyfish’s. She had progressively responsible experience over the past several decades, tons of projects she could point to with successful outcomes, patience her primary virtue. Plus, she blew things up effortlessly and that seemed like the best qualification of all.

Experiments

The jellyfish let her tentacles unfold and lay atop the waves on a sunny afternoon, for once relaxing a little. She took deep breaths and savored the smell of a happy day on the beach — bonfires, women’s perfume, blackberries. “Striving’s for gloomy days,” her crab friend always says. “And thinking like The Man.” But it’s easy for her, the jellyfish thinks. After all, she’s covered in a tough, barbed shell. Whereas the jellyfish is vulnerable. Transparent. Floppy. She must always be watchful or end up a snack, swallowed down in a gulp by hungry predators. Still, the crab’s way sounds better. Stop pushing so hard. Stop striving. The jellyfish is going to try it. Just for a few minutes.