Maria woke to the smell of salt. She always rose with the sun, but her nostrils usually filled with dust or warm grass. Never salt.
She rose from her bed, placing her feet onto the wet floor. Wet?
A gentle tide was lapping at her toes.
Her eyes darted around her bedroom with its yellow walls and white framed windows. Outside, things looked as they always did. The familiar view of this landlocked place. Her white dresser stood sprinkled with seashell jewelry, gifts from her uncle who was always traveling. Maria had only visited the ocean a few times on road trips. The second she left, she wished she could return.
Maria scoured the edges of her room, the inch of water sloshing and swirling around her. There were no leaks or cracks. Nothing unusual except the fact of the water, which had creeped to her calves without her notice.
She fought her way into the now-foreign kitchen. The cabinets were encrusted with barnacles. Pink and orange coral and an alien anemone sprouted from the doors of the pantry. She threw its doors open and a turtle slid out as if she had woken it up. Did turtles sleep? Was she dreaming?
Maria splashed into her living room, the water almost to her waist. A massive stingray floated over her coffee table. She stared as it glided to the floor and swam past her.
With the water now to her elbows she had to swim from room to room. In the spare room a gray seal was lounging on the bed. It noticed her and started to approach. Maria pushed her arms hard to propel herself away but it was no use. It drifted over to stare at her with jet black eyes. Voluminous whiskers brushed her arm and gave her goosebumps. She watched as it poked its nose into a bookshelf and caused a few volumes to drift to the bottom.
Escaping to the living room, she found a school of herring that darted to the window as she entered. The water was almost to the ceiling and Maria worried about air. How long she could keep treading water before her drowning proved that she didn’t belong with these creatures.
Seagrass covered the floor. A pack of dog sharks propelled itself into the living room and gathered around the couch like she imagined puppies would. She treaded water with smoother and smaller movements, hoping they wouldn’t go for her feet.
The water was almost to the ceiling. Maria tilted her head up to continue breathing. It reached her ears, then the salty sea closed over her.
She forced her eyes open, desperate for a window or door, and found her eyes were not stinging. She could see so clearly, gasping at the sight of luminous pink jellyfish. Gasping.
She could breathe.
The water flowed in and out of her lungs as she drifted toward the sandy floor. The huge stingray was back and swam lazily past her again. She ran a finger along its smooth back.
“Welcome,” she said softly.
These sea creatures had been impossible here, so far from the ocean, but for the first time, she was home.
Written by Emma Chandler Summer 2026 Intern for The Ocean Project
Artist’s statement: I grew up in Rhode Island driving to beaches in the summer and reacquainting myself with the ocean every year. The ocean has always felt a little mysterious, yet my connection to it is undeniable. I don’t live on itand I don’t see it most of the year. But I care deeply about protecting it and maintaining its health. The perceived gap between myself and the ocean was the inspiration behind this story and I hope it makes clear just how small/nonexistent that gap actually is. I like to pay special attention to bridging that gap on World Ocean Day since it is an opportunity to be more mindful of the invisible strings that connect humanity and the ocean.
