MARIE-ELIZABETH MALI Self-Portrait as Squid


She would change colors with her moods, flash her eyes in the dark at what scared her. On sunny days, she loved to be lavender, to turn opalescent when the clouds rolled in. Brown whenever she felt like it. When she went swimming, she’d blend her belly-side to the light coming through the water. If you looked up, all you saw was dappled, rippling blue. At the same time, she matched her back to the depths, so if you searched for her from the dock, all you saw was midnight. She was an ace at hiding. Eventually she no longer wanted to be alone. She wanted to be found before the fear gnawing at her kidneys developed a taste for her three greenish hearts. One day a boy came along who wasn’t afraid of her color changes, her bad hearing, her smooth hairless skin, and long arms. She wanted badly to let him in. But every time he’d get near her, she’d cover him in ink. She’d go home and tear off an arm in frustration, grow it back by morning. Finally his mother, tired of having to buy him new white shirts, forbade him to see her again. She wished she could turn off the ink, but knew it was impossible. She set off to find a friend elsewhere. She traveled and traveled and traveled and still, the same problem. After many years, she returned and ran into the boy. By then, he’d been stained by the world and wore only black. He still loved her, all other girls too unidimensional. Every now and then he’d have to remind her not to squeeze too hard, not to bite him with her beak. To let up a bit on the inking. But they were happy. He had no problem with her need to be invisible most of the day, as long as when night came, she’d wrap herself around him in their gently rocking bed.


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