The Barnacle

She always said he was like a snail. If you touch him, ever so slightly, the wrong way, he would retreat into his shell. She said this because she never played with barnacles.

Barnacles have this amazing hand that waves in the water like a long eye-lash. They eat this way, and test for danger. When I brushed the lash with my finger it would vanish into the recess of the crusty white barnacle. All the beauty and gracefullness about the barnacle went with it. At this time, when the lash is hidden, one can only see the hard, uninviting shell. I understand, however, that the barnacle, the large ones, are an edible delicacy behind their ugly shell.

The snail is beautiful, perhaps more so, when he is tucked inside his shell. Then, you can always crush it. But the barnacle--no one smashes a barnacle.

I would wait, in those days, until the lash would creep out, one little tentacle, and then another, and then they would all come, and then they would come boldly out as far as they could come.

So it was with him. The door would slam, and maybe a lock put in place. I don’t remember how it was done, but she would be allowed inside the room. Finally, he would believe no ill was intended. If it were early enough, he’d come back out of the room with impressive silence. By noontime the next day he might be normal, having tested the waters every hour to make sure he was not under the perceived attack.