A Sea of Opportunity

By Sunny B

A Sea of Opportunities

By Sunny Bassett

It’s a warm Thursday in the beginning of June, and I arrive at school five minutes early to

ensure my spot in the far-right desk near the back. I like this desk because it is the one I always

sit at. My bad ear is against the wall, and my place in the back of the class ensures that little to no

social interaction is necessary. Plus, I can be easily aware of everything that’s going on in the

class. I sit down and untuck my hair so that it covers my hearing aid. Even though it’s against the

wall, you can never be too careful.

The bell rings and I fix my posture as my classmates filter in. I put on my headphones so

that none of them try to talk to me—and so that I don’t have to hear their morning antics. They

don’t have any reason to talk to me either way, because I don’t talk to them. Socializing is

draining, and besides, I’d rather not risk any of my classmates finding out that I am deaf in one

ear. I can’t be seen as the weird girl again.

In elementary and middle school, I was bullied often. Even when I used to hear normally,

my classmates still managed to find ways to make me the target of whatever they were plotting

that day. Their reasoning was always insignificant; my speech patterns, my “weird” clothes, or

the odd way in which I tugged on my hair when I was nervous. High school was like a fresh start

for me. I decided to keep to myself and do my best to appear as “normal” as possible. I much

prefer this voluntary solitude to the loneliness I felt when I was young.

The teacher, Mr. Dorian, walks in. I take off my headphones and the background noise of

the classroom hits me like a riptide. “Good morning students, please settle down. I have a fewannouncements to make this morning,” he says. The class quiets. “But first, let me take

attendance.” I listen hard for my name. I know it is number 13. I take a moment to get my voice

ready. “Evangeline Kenney?”

“Here,” I say. My family just calls me Eva, unless mom is mad at me. My full name is

Evangeline Mya Kenney, and I suppose it rolls off the tongue better than Eva Mya Kenney. I

don’t know where the Kenney came from, because both of my parents are Russian. I’d imagine

that whatever Russian surname we had got lost in the time my dad’s side of the family has lived

here in Canada. Mom moved here from Russia 23 years ago and took my dad’s last name when

they got married, so that’s that.

Mr. Dorian finishes the attendance and clears his throat. “Alright, everyone; we’re

nearing the end of the school year. As you all know, you will be in grade 12 when you return in

September.” The class cheers. Mr. Dorian picks up a stack of papers and begins walking around

the room. “To those of you who have not joined any clubs or served your community service

hours,” he pauses and gives the class an accusatory look, “you must get a job over the summer to

retrieve those credits and graduate next year. Details are listed on the sheet I’m passing out. If

you have any questions or concerns, meet me after class or shoot me an email.”

A job? I don’t remember that being on the credit requirement sheet last time I read it. I

don’t even know what I want to do after high school. Maybe I’m overthinking it; it’s just one

thing I have to do for a small fraction of the two-month break. It’ll get me out of the house,

which mom will appreciate.

When I arrive home after school, I’m exhausted. I flop onto my desk chair and open my

laptop to search for some job listings. I immediately scroll past the ones that either require too

much social interaction, are in a loud setting, or rely too much on audio cues. Damn, all of theseare awful. I begin to lose hope; I can’t work in a restaurant, be a camp counselor, or scan

groceries. What other jobs do they even offer teenagers? Eventually, I come across one that

catches my eye—the aquarium, working right after closing. All I need to do is clean the place

and occasionally feed the animals. No people or loud noises. It’s perfect, and I can ride my bike

there in under 10 minutes.

I spend the next few days filling out an application. I asked mom for some help with

some parts. “You are finally getting job, huh?” she’d said in her broken English. “It will be good

for you.” At the time, I thought she was being facetious, but thinking back, there was a certain

warmth in her voice that says otherwise. Now here I am, back at my desk, staring at my

computer screen. My mouse hovers over the submit button. I bite my lip and scroll back up to

read through it again. It needs to be perfect. I tell myself it’ll be okay and finally turn in my

application.

The next few nights are sleepless. I lie awake, my body bubbling with anxiety. I check

my phone every few minutes, even though I know I won’t get an answer at this hour. It seems as

if I have just fallen asleep, when my alarm goes off.

I can’t focus at all during school today, which is unlike me. As soon as I get home in the

afternoon, I check my laptop. I immediately receive an email notification. It’s from the

aquarium. Before I get a chance to read it, my phone buzzes. I pick it up and hold the phone to

my left ear, turning the volume up. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Evangeline Kenney?”

Deep breaths. “Yes, it is.”“Great! My name is Beatrice, and I’m calling you from Big Ocean Aquarium. We have

received your application and would like to see you for an in-person interview sometime within

the next two weeks. Would you like to schedule that now?”

I’ve been rehearsing how to act and respond to common interview questions in the mirror

ever since I submitted my application. “Um, yes please. Let me check my calendar.” I don’t have

anything planned aside from school and studying for finals, but she doesn’t need to know that.

It is Wednesday, and my interview is scheduled for Friday. This gives me enough time to

continue practicing, but not long enough so that I’ll begin to get too anxious. I am somewhat

confident that since I’ve made it this far in the process, I would have to mess up the interview

pretty badly to lose the job. Still, worries of failure are in the back of my mind. What other jobs

are out there for me if this doesn’t work? What will I do if this fails?

Friday arrives quicker than expected, and suddenly I’m standing in front of the aquarium.

The sky is painted a pale evening orange, and the summer breeze blows my long hair back and

forth. The words Big Ocean Aquarium loom above my head in large, rounded lettering. The O

has a wave inside of it, beckoning me to come inside. I adjust my appearance and step in.

I am greeted by a forty-something woman by the name of Alice, who will be doing my

interview today. She is very bubbly and chatty, which is good for me because I hate having to fill

the silence. The interview room is a small eight-by-eight cube in the corner of the building, with

pale yellow walls and a clock on the opposite side of the door. Alice motions for me to sit and

begins asking me a bunch of unrelated questions, like “how was your day?” and “nice weather

we’re having, isn’t it?” to which I give the default responses of “good, thanks” and “yes, it is

lovely.” Once she is satisfied with the amount of small talk, she asks me the interview questions.

I respond with my practiced answer and facial expression. I think it went well.My mind is racing. Before I know it, I’m imagining what it will be like when—if—I get

the job. I picture myself, alone, surrounded by nothing but the beautiful blue of the fish tanks and

the refreshing yet familiar sound of silence. Cleaning has always been therapeutic for me. It’s a

chore many people dread, but its simple, repetitive nature gives me a sense of calm and control.

I’m trying not to get ahead of myself, but I need this job. Perhaps in more ways than one.

The following Tuesday, while I’m getting ready for school, I get a call. It’s Beatrice

again, and she excitedly tells me that I landed the job. She says that I will be starting my shifts

after final exams. Yes! A wave of relief and excitement washes over me. Now in a good mood, I

hurriedly finish getting ready for school and rush out the door, forgetting my hearing aid on the

counter.

I have had hearing problems since I was nine years old. I got a horrible ear infection in

both ears while my dad was away on a business trip, and mom wouldn’t let me go to the hospital,

insisting that her tried-and-true Russian home remedies would work just fine—they didn’t. I’m

now nearly deaf in my right ear. My left ear isn’t in great shape either, but at least I can hear OK

on one side. It’s far from perfect; the doctor says I’ll probably have to use a hearing aid on the

left as well by the time I’m 18. I just turned 17. No one besides my family, doctors, and teachers

know about this. I do not want my peers to find out.

The rest of the school day is exhausting. For the first time, I seriously consider moving to

the front to hear better, but I don’t. I do stay after class to ask the teacher to send me the notes,

though. I’ll just have to make those up on my own.

In Mr. Dorian’s email, he kindly includes a detailed document containing the notes, as

well as a YouTube link. I scroll down, and there’s something more at the end of the email.

Evangeline,Thank you for always being such a wonderful student. You are almost done with grade

11, and not once have you been an issue in my class. I must ask—now that you are nearing grade

12, what are you interested in doing after high school? I would be eager to chat with you about

career options. See you in class tomorrow!

-Alexander M. Dorian

What am I interested in doing after high school? I stare at the screen for a moment, brows

furrowing as I desperately try to grasp my jumbled thoughts. Sure, the thought has occurred to

me a few times during my school career, but I’ve always just brushed it off to focus on studying

or whatever book I was reading at the time. My whole life has been focused on school and

pleasing mom with my grades, and I haven’t stopped to think about what comes next. I don’t

even know the names of most universities in my province, British Columbia. I get a sinking

feeling in my chest wondering what the future holds for me. I decide to go to bed early.

The next couple of weeks leading up to finals feel like an eternity, each day a rinse-and-

repeat cycle of wake up, go to school, study, sleep. Mom has been a nightmare. Every time I’m

not in my room, she asks why I’m not studying. It wouldn’t matter if I had already studied for

hours before that. Either way, I get extra time for exams, which I usually don’t need, and I’m

prepared, so I’m not worried.

I start my first shift at the aquarium the day after my last exam. I arrive five minutes

early. A young man by the name of Henry shows me where the staff room is. He says that there

is usually a list posted in there of the tanks that need to be fed, and it changes every day. There is

not one today because all of the feeding has been taken care of, but that will likely not be the

case next time I come in . He says that I won’t need to worry about what food to use or how

much, because it will be there already. Then we go to the supply closet, and he shows me whatcleaners to use, the proper way to wipe certain surfaces, the optimal mopping route, and how to

lock the doors on my way out. The sun has almost set when we lock up, and before I leave, he

finishes by telling me that I should put my hair up next time so that it’s out of the way, and that I

may listen to music while I work. I nod and bike home; I don’t have the social energy to give

him a verbal response after all that. Still, I’m glad I had someone to show me what to do, even

though it was tiring.

When I get home, my dad is home early from work. He’s waiting for me in the kitchen,

with his coat strewn onto a chair and a glass of water in his hand. “Beava! How was your first

shift?”

Dad always calls me beava—beaver, but pronounced bee-vuh—because when my front

teeth grew in as a kid, I looked like I had buck teeth, and beava sounds like Eva.

“Hi dad, you’re home early!” I set my bag down on the floor. “Work was fine, the person

who trained me talked too fast, but I was able to understand enough.” I didn't feel like talking

any more today, but with dad, it’s different. He always puts me in a lighter mood.

“Yup, I got someone to cover for me so I could be home to see you after this big day! I’m

proud of you.” Dad reaches for the cabinet and pours some crackers into a bowl. “Want a

snack?”

“Aw, thanks dad. You didn’t have to.” Come to think of it, I am hungry. “And yes,

please, I’d love one.”

Dad and I sit and talk over our bowl of crackers, just like we used to before he got his

new job. I missed this. Before we know it, it’s almost 10pm. I decide to start getting ready for

bed. I’m halfway up the stairs when dad says something.“Good talk, kiddo. And hey, I know your mom has been harsh lately, but she’s proud of

you too. Good night.” He smiles softly, a hint of worry in his eyes.

I smile back at him, lingering on the steps a moment longer before continuing to go up.

“Good night, Dad.”

The next few shifts go smoothly, and I’m starting to enjoy having something to do during

summer break. The cleaning is calming, and I like catching a glimpse of the sea creatures every

now and then. Plus, it’s just me; no other people around. But one thought keeps popping up in

my mind:

What are you interested in doing after high school?

I don’t want to think about this right now, but it’s eating away at me like a parasite. My

future had always seemed so far away, but now I’m close enough to see it. Yet, when I try to

look, I see nothing but an impenetrable cloud of fog slowly inching closer.

One evening, in early July, I have the job of feeding the manta rays before I get to the

cleaning. I’m pulling my white-blonde hair into a ponytail when my hearing aid gets caught and

falls into the tank with a splash. I reach for it, but it’s too late. I nearly lose hope when a grey

figure whips past in the water. Before I know it, a large manta ray is swimming just below the

surface—with my hearing aid on its back! I’m shocked, relieved, confused, and overjoyed at the

same time. How did it do that? I gingerly pick up my hearing aid, giving the creature a small pat,

and take the batteries out so that it can dry. I make sure to feed this particular manta ray a little

extra as thanks.

The rest of my shift is perfectly uneventful, but I can’t shake the feeling that someone is

watching me. Maybe I’m just uneasy because I can’t hear as well. Either way, I brush it off and

finish the job as quickly as I can before biking home.I can’t help but wonder if the manta ray retrieving my hearing aid was intentional

somehow, or otherwise just an extreme stroke of luck. It happened so fast that I didn’t catch what

really happened. I spend the evening researching manta rays. They’re apparently very intelligent

creatures, but would one really know the importance of what I’d dropped in the water? They are

also pretty big in size, so I guess it could have just been coincidence that one was there to catch

it. Nonetheless, these strange creatures have captivated me.

A few days later, I’ve successfully dried and fixed my hearing aid with help from my

dad. I decided not to tell him what happened, instead saying that it fell into a bucket of water.

“Careful next time,” he’d told me with a slight laugh in his voice.

I clock in to work that night feeling more at ease now that I can hear better. I’m wiping

down the glass to the main tank when I hear something behind me. The main tank occupies the

very center of the building, its large cylindrical shape extending two floors high. I am on the

second floor, and behind me, near the back of the building, is a door slightly ajar. I hadn’t

noticed this door before. It is pale yellow against the blue walls, and there is a dim light—

perhaps from a desk lamp—inside the room, which appears to be painted the same as the door.

I wonder whether whoever occupies that room has accidentally left their lamp on. I creep

towards the door and peer inside, but to my surprise, there is a small man sitting at a desk. Who

could be working at this hour besides me? We’re closed. The man is old, perhaps in his

seventies? He has honey brown skin spotted with age and a nearly bald head, only a few tufts of

hair still hanging on. He notices me, and I jump.

He stares at me for a moment, expressionless, through thin almond eyes. “You fixed it,”

he says.

What is he saying?He senses my confusion and points to his right ear.

I touch my own ear and remember my hearing aid that fell into the water just a few days

ago. How did he know that?

The man smiles softly but does not respond. Somehow, I feel comforted by this instead of

creeped out. My eyes flit to a plaque on the wall. Engraved is Haruki Onaga, founder and CEO

of Big Ocean Aquarium. Wow, so this place is his. I continue observing the room; next to the

plaque on the wall are various diplomas and degrees. On the other walls are an analog clock,

bookshelves, and a beautiful watercolor painting of a koi fish. The rest of the room is just as well

furnished, with a dark green carpet and cedar furniture.

“Manta rays can be powerful guardians,” the man says, breaking the silence.

I suddenly feel embarrassed. He definitely saw what happened the other day. “What do

you mean, sir?”

“Where I come from, the manta ray is said to bring protection and wisdom to some. I see

that you have found this to be true.”

I have so many questions. What does this have to do with what happened? How does he

even know about it? But Mr. Onaga has already returned to his work. I step away and close the

door—making sure it clicks this time—and finish cleaning in silence.

It has now been almost a week since my encounter with Mr. Onaga, and I have not seen

him again. Good, I think to myself. I don’t need any more ominous thoughts and questions in my

mind right now. I once again remember Mr. Dorian’s email.

What are you interested in doing after high school?I have pondered this question nearly every day since I first read it, and I still have no idea

what I want to do. I’ve taken every free career quiz on the internet, and nothing seems appealing

enough to consider doing for the rest of my life. I try not to think about it, but it is a decision I’m

going to have to make very soon.

Sure enough, the next time I walk into work, I see Mr. Onaga. He is standing with his

hands held gently behind his back, admiring the main tank. If he owns this place, why can’t he

look at the animals any other time? I ignore him and begin working. He doesn’t seem to notice

me, still entranced by the fish tank. When it’s time to wipe down the glass, I do every other tank

before I get to where he is, hoping he’ll be gone by the time I finish. He isn’t. I awkwardly inch

towards him.

Eventually, I’m standing right next to Mr. Onaga, silently watching the tank alongside

him. I occasionally glance at him. It feels rude to ask him to move, even though he is in my way.

A few minutes pass. He finally says something.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Hm?” I turn to look at him more clearly.

“The way the water and the life within its body flow together harmoniously.”

“Oh, um, yes.” I nod, unsure how to respond. Mr. Onaga turns back to look into the

water, which annoys me because it is harder to read his lips now.

In his usual soft-spoken manner, he continues. “I envy the way life goes on for the

creatures of the water. The current ebbs and flows, yet they remain. Humans allow too many

obstacles to get in the way of the journey that is life.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “just

like you are allowing my presence to get in the way of your work.”I can’t tell if that was supposed to be an insult or not, but something tells me it wasn’t.

Mr. Onaga walks away, and I think of my own life, and the constant thought of what to do with

my future slowing me down, drowning me in anxiety. It suddenly feels silly that one simple

question has been weighing me down so much. But how am I supposed to move forward in life

when I don’t know what I’m moving towards? I continue wiping down the glass, staring into the

waters and wondering what all of the creatures inside must be thinking.

That night, when I get home, I spend the rest of the night watching videos of sea

creatures online. I’m mesmerized by all the different types and species of fish and mammals and

other things I didn’t even know existed. I yearn for the ocean, something I’ve only ever seen as a

touristy vacation spot until now. I want to know more about it. I want to know everything.

For the first time, I come to work hoping to see Mr. Onaga and his weird bits of wisdom.

To my disappointment, he is nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’s in his office? I shouldn’t bother

him, though. With a sigh, I get to work. This time, I take a moment to truly look into each tank I

wipe down and read the signs posted about what lives inside. Occasionally, a curious fish will

come up to the glass and follow the swift motions of my cleaning rag. My mind is clear, and I

feel at peace. I am on my way to get the mop from the supply closet, when I run into Mr. Onaga.

I nearly drop the key with surprise; when did he get here?

He is unfazed by my jumpiness. “Walk with me,” he says.

“What? But I still need to mop the floors.”

“Never mind that.” He stands by my left side, which I appreciate—although I’m unsure if

it was intentional—and we begin slowly circling the main tank.

I finally gain the courage to ask him, “How did you know about what happened with the

manta ray?”“I was taking a break from work to get some water from the drinking fountain,” he says.

“And I saw you by the tank preparing to feed the manta rays.”

I had forgotten that there is a drinking fountain behind the tank. I’m not sure how to

respond to this, though, so I just nod and say, “Ah.”

It seems he does not know how to continue the conversation either. My recent obsession

with marine life has sparked some kind of curiosity within me I haven’t had since I was a kid,

and I can’t hold in the questions anymore. I start by asking him something I already know the

answer to, hoping he’ll tell me more. “So, you own this aquarium? I saw the plaque in your

office.”

“Yes, my wife and I opened it together many years ago. It was a long and difficult road to

do so, and to get to where we are now.”

“What made you want to open an aquarium?” I ask, eager to hear his story.

Mr. Onaga looks past me at the tank, and I can see the fondness in his eyes. “I have

always had a fascination with our world’s oceans and seas and the life that inhabits them. It was

my dream to share that love with others. When I came here and met Ophelia, she shared the same

dream.”

“That’s beautiful. Your wife sounds like a lovely woman, and you two sure know how to

run an aquarium. The animals seem content.”

“Yes, I do not believe in sacrificing the wellbeing of the animals for a greater cause. The

goal is not to entertain. We display the beautiful complexity of our underwater world for others

to learn from and appreciate.”I think about Mr. Onaga’s words, how they have affected me, and last night’s marathon

of aquatic life videos. I’m unsure if he even knows my name, and I already see the world in a

different light than before because of him. Once again, Mr. Dorian’s question pops into my head.

What are you interested in doing after high school?

And for the first time, I think I know the answer. The fog begins to clear. “I want to learn

more about the ocean, too,” I say.

Mr. Onaga smiles. “What would you like to know?”

“Absolutely everything.” I don’t like eye contact, but I look directly at him to make sure

he knows I’m serious.

He chuckles softly. “You have far to go, child. What you see here is incomparable to the

vast waters of the Earth.”

I heed his words carefully and realize that we have made it all the way around and to the

front door. My mind whirrs, endless possibilities swirling around, but I’m not overwhelmed. In

fact, I feel in control. “Thank you, sir. For everything.”

He smiles warmly and nods. I get the feeling that this is the end of our conversation for

the night, but I’m okay with that. In fact, it’s the longest conversation I’ve had with anyone other

than family in a long time. I ride home with a smile on my face, and for the first time since

middle school, I keep my hair up, not caring that my hearing aid is showing. My ponytail

swishes in the breeze and I feel free.