A Love More Boundless than the Sea

By Sarah Garcia

Valeria breathes in and out before the full tub. She trembles gazing into her fear and seeing her own reflection look back. The harsh bathroom light above glares down and paints everything a sick, ugly yellow. Come on, she tells herself. You can do this. This should be easy. Make her proud of you. But nothing she thinks matters, for the fear remains scrunched tight in her toes and throbbing endlessly in her head.

Valeria inhales once again before placing her left and then right foot into the tub. She slides herself down until the water wraps itself around her arms. Gripping the tub’s edges, she finally dares to submerge her head beneath the surface. Every part of Valeria's being immediately screams at her to leave, to save herself, to go back to the comfort of the dry world. She tries to conjure pleasant memories but comes up empty. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this, she pleads.

But the ugliness seeps in anyway. Memories flash in her brain like wild, gnawing animals. The water’s all around. It encompasses her entire existence. It’s suffocating her. Lungs threaten to explode. Eyes stretch wide. Terror imprisons forever. She fights back. Nature prevails. Love is stolen. I can’t breathe. She’s dead, and I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t- Siempre.

Valeria leaps out of the water. That word – “Siempre” – echoes in her head and brings her pain. She gasps for air, but even oxygen is her enemy, for it is friends with water. It is biding its time, waiting for the best opportunity to combine with the hydrogen and erupt in her lungs and choke her out and drown her and leave her flopping about like a dying fish on land, struggling and suffering like her in her final moments forever and ever and ever and-

Rushing from the tub, Valeria dries herself. She dresses in the first clothes she manages to pull out from her dresser, a simple oversized shirt and a pair of jean shorts, and wanders out into the night to walk her fears away.

#

The streets are bare and strangely lonely. From far away, an ambulance releases an echo that bounces across the city. Valeria walks with no direction in the moon-illuminated dark, the streetlights above unveiling a path of golden light which she follows without question. The sidewalk is fractured and cracked and jutting out in several places. She hears waves crashing against a nearby shore and finally lifts her head to her destination – the local beach.

Her stomach turns. Her throat tightens. Her hands shake. She prepares to turn back the way she came and head home when suddenly her ears pick up a new sound: a woman, wailing. She looks about wildly for the source and sees this figure standing by the shore. Her body appears to writhe about. Her cry is high-pitched and inhumane. The woman paces back and forth across the sand, gesturing frantically towards the sea but never entering. At moments, this woman doubles over as if in pain.

Valeria recalls her mamá’s old stories of La Llorona as she witnesses this scene — the weeping, wailing woman who drowned her own children in a river and then killed herself out of grief, now cursed forever to wander in search of her dead offspring. No, she thinks. That’s just a fairytale. A story. It’s. Not. Real. 

She watches the woman and considers leaving. The ocean is too close, waiting for her to approach after so long and swallow her whole in one inky black wave. She sweats at the thought of being wrapped in its cold darkness, her body carried out to sea and found only by the sharks as they rip her apart bit by bit and piece by piece.

But the woman could be in trouble. She could be in pain, desperate for her help. The thought of abandoning this stranger in her time of need makes Valeria feel even sicker. She was raised to be better than that. Her earlier thought repeats. Make her proud. So, Valeria treads across the sand, its tiny particles threatening to sink and encase her, even as her breath quickens and her body shakes with uncontrollable tremors.

The howling intensifies as she draws nearer. Each sound causes Valeria’s soul to leap from her body into the open air. 

In one lament, the woman cries, “¡Ay, mis hijos! ¡Ayúdame! ¡Por favor!”

Valeria freezes. No, it’s just a coincidence. It’s not real. Ghosts aren’t real. She repeats this like a mantra in her head, but can’t completely convince herself. Her feet refuse to move another step. This is good enough. Distance from both the woman and the sea is safer.

“Hey!” Valeria calls out. “Are- are you okay?”

The woman swivels toward her as soon as the words leave her mouth. Valeria blinks once and suddenly she stands before her, only inches away.

The woman is beautiful. Her dark, soaked hair drips and clings to her brown skin. Her white gown hangs heavy with water from her body. Her brown eyes are glazed with tears already shed and those on the edge of arrival. Valeria has only the chance to inhale, a scream prepared, before La Llorona grasps at her arms, eyes wide and nails digging in.

Oh god! Oh no no no no nonononononononono-

“Oh, thank god!” La Llorona says. “Finally, someone! You’ll help me, yes?”

Huh? She speaks English?

Valeria is paralyzed. Fear crawls down her throat and threatens to choke her. La Llorona pays her no mind and throws one hand behind herself to the ocean. “My- my children! My babies! They are lost! I can’t- Please! Find them! Save them! I beg you!”

La Llorona begins to pull her closer to the shore. Wait, no no no no! Valeria breaks from the spell of her own creation and tries to plant her feet down and stop them both. But La Llorona’s strength is unnatural. It is inescapable. She carries Valeria forward as if she were a doll.

Fuck, what do I do, what do I do, what do I do?

“Thank you! Thank you!” La Llorona laughs through her tears. Their feet draw close to where the foam meets the sand, kissing the shore before retreating to the ocean’s depths.

I have to stop her, I can’t go in, I’m not ready, I’m not!

“You’re a hero! You will save my children, I know it! I can’t wait to see their little smiles and kiss their chubby little faces and—”

They’re not there, they’re dead, it’s no use, they’re dead just like her: dead dead dead dead dead—

The waves wax and wane, shining like glass, against the rough sand, ready to cut a fresh wound into Valeria’s soul as they reach the shoreline.

“They’re dead!” Valeria cries out. La Llorona stops, one foot in the water, her back to Valeria.

Valeria feels her mouth go dry. Please, tell me that worked…

Valeria speaks again but gentler. “I’m sorry, but… they’re dead. They’ve been dead a long time.” La Llorona does not face her, her grasp on Valeria’s arm so tight that Valeria fears it will be shattered into pieces.

Great job. Now you’re gonna die and everything she sacrificed for you will have been for nothing.

La Llorona slowly rotates to face Valeria again, moving as if gliding through the air. Tears stream from the apparition’s eyes like rainfall. She sobs, the gasps and whines escaping her throat. “N-no! You’re lying! You’re lying to me! How- how are you so cruel?! Why-”

“Listen,” Valeria whispers, forcing herself to meet La Llorona’s gaze as she tries to make the ghost see reason. “Look into my eyes. Do I look like I’m lying? Your children.. they’re dead. It’s the truth.”

La Llorona stands frozen before her for several, long moments. Then her tears transform into a raging river, and she breaks down in Valeria’s arms like glass, her grief so vast and fractured that no one could ever possibly pick up every piece.

Valeria collapses next to La Llorona on the sand.  She holds her tightly, while La Llorona wails and wails for eons. The ghost's sorrow coats everything like a storm. She manages to choke out something barely above a whisper. “H-how…?”

Valeria swallows the lump forming in her throat and considers how to respond. Well, honesty’s worked so far…“It was you… Some people say your husband left you, so that’s why you.. drowned them.”

“No, no, no, no, no…” La Llorona mumbles, body quaking.

Valeria worries that the ghost has taken the news too poorly, that she will lash out against her, but she instead curls deeper into Valeria’s arms. Pitying her complete vulnerability, Valeria cradles La Llorona's head and hums sweetly to her as her own mamá did for her as a child, hoping to take away her agony. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry..”

It’s okay, she thinks. You’re not alone. I’m a killer too.

La Llorona remains swaddled in her arms for a long time. Eventually, the ghost quiets and pulls away, looking like a small, innocent babe in Valeria’s eyes. Valeria stands on shaky legs and brings the apparition with her. She clasps their hands tightly as one.

She seems so.. helpless. I shouldn’t just leave her. I can’t…

“Want to come with me? You can be safe at my home. How does that sound?”

La Llorona doesn’t respond, simply continuing to stare. Valeria gives her a small, encouraging smile before beginning to lead her from the shore. La Llorona trails behind, fingers limp in her grasp.

And then, as Valeria escapes the sand and places her foot on the solid sidewalk, La Llorona evaporates. Valeria’s touch meets nothing but empty air. She twists around and finds herself alone, with nothing but the sand and the sea to greet her. Chills flow through her from her toes to the very top of her head. She turns and rushes back to her apartment.

You imagined it all, Valeria thinks as she slams her door closed and slides down its wood to the floor. That wasn’t real. You.. hallucinated. You must have.

But when she crawls into bed, she struggles to believe herself. And, as she drifts off to sleep, a body, warm and soft and inviting, curls next to her and holds her close. It rubs her back and coos sweet words into her ear, humming a nostalgic tune that breaks her heart but also comforts her dreams.

#

The next day, Valeria awakens to the smell of bacon frying and coffee brewing. It permeates the air, reminding her of the many mornings she awoke to as a child with her mamá at the stove, a warm greeting prepared on her lips.

Valeria rises from her bed and rubs at her eyes still heavy with sleep. The rich aroma of caffeine rouses her further, along with the sizzle of fat that causes her stomach to growl. She wonders if the scent of her neighbors’ cooking has drifted in through her window.

She leaves her bedroom and emerges to find a plate of eggs and bacon and a cup of black coffee placed upon the table. Steam billows from the food and drink in waves. The smell is tantalizing and almost too good to be true.

Did.. did someone break in? Just to make breakfast of all things?

The sound of bacon searing in a pan still resonates from the kitchen. Carefully, she tiptoes around the corner and peeks inside, prepared for an intruder.

It is La Llorona. She looks the same as last night — beautiful and soaked to the bone. She stands by the stove, handling the bacon with deft care. She turns her head and meets Valeria’s gaze. Her brown eyes are now clear of tears. A light shines in them that instantly welcomes Valeria. In the silence, La Llorona smiles. And, before a word can be spoken, she disappears once again.

A minute passes before Valeria gathers the courage to switch off the stove, letting the hot grease slowly die. She sits at the table, tastes the food, and drinks the coffee. It is warm. It is delicious. It is real.

Throughout the meal, the eggs fall constantly back to her plate. The bacon waves about in her fingers. The coffee sloshes and stains the table’s wood. She holds back her tears with every bite and swallows with great effort.

#

That night, Valeria refuses to sleep. At first, she sits on her couch. As her tired eyes start to drift closed, she puts on headphones and blasts music. When that loses its edge, she devolves into pinching and lightly slapping herself. Then, when all this fails, she paces around the living room. Valeria stays awake all night, but La Llorona does not appear.

Valeria resigns herself to failure as the light of a new day breaks through her window. She showers quickly, forcing herself to repress the feeling of water pelting her skin, and leaves home.

Outside, she waits at the bus stop, exhaustion pulling at her eyelids. When the bus arrives, she swipes her card, thanks the driver, and takes a seat near the back. She slouches in an aisle seat, blocking the empty window seat to her right and crossing her arms as a “please don’t bother me” message to those boarding after her.

The bus engine hums, encouraging her fatigue. A robotic female voice announces every stop as they approach, rhythmic and predictable. “Next stop, El Mirador Aven- DING! Stop requested. Please exit through the rear door.…… Next stop, Santa Maria Drive…” The voice drones on and on, while slumber assails Valeria from all corners of her mind. She nearly jumps out of her seat whenever her eyes flutter closed. Come on, not now…

Eventually, she loses this fight. Her vision fades to black, and she gives in to her body’s desperate exhaustion, slumping into the space beside her.

A body stops her descent before she can crash into the seat, allowing Valeria’s head to rest on its shoulder. It wraps an arm around her and pulls her close. Its body feels wet, and yet, somehow, it is still warm and soft and inviting. Valeria imagines herself wrapped in a cocoon of bittersweet love and affection. 

Valeria inhales a scent that she thought she would never smell again: tangy citrus, burned cinnamon, sweet vanilla. She wants to both smile and cry. The figure leans close to her ear. It whispers in a gentle voice, “Siempre.”

Valeria jolts awake, struck by the lightning of that word. The seat next to her is empty. She looks around wildly to the other passengers. Some give her a confused glance. Others continue reading their books, scrolling through their phones, zoning out to their music and podcasts – all already numb to the typical strangeness of the bus.

La Llorona is nowhere to be found among the passengers. She isn’t here either. Valeria holds back her disappointed tears and waits for her stop. She is fully awake now.

#

Valeria is inside her local grocery store by the late afternoon. The sun dips low in the sky, night close on its heels. People walk around her and engage in their late evening shopping, eager to return to their homes. She tries to forget La Llorona for the moment. She wonders, What should I make for dinner? The large aisles and mountains of different options intimidate and puzzle her.

Suddenly, a new existence overcomes her body. It is in every inch of her entire being. It takes full control of her motions, even in the tips of her toes. She now has ingredients listed out in her head. She allows this mysterious force to tug on her limbs and send her down the aisles – grabbing potatoes, onions, cheese, and several other items – before robotically handing her money over to the cashier. She travels back home on the bus, feeling like a stranger in her own body. Her thoughts fog over as if covered by a thinly veiled mist. She watches the world pass by from the tinted window, barely conscious of anything but the being crawling under her skin, across her bones, and around her heart. Surprisingly, it’s quite pleasant.

As soon as she enters her apartment, Valeria sets to work peeling the potatoes, chopping the onions, and cooking everything on the stove in one large pot. She doesn’t recognize any of her actions before she does them. Her body simply follows along with the mysterious instructions given to it as she crafts this meal.

The dish finishes cooking. She grabs a bowl from a cupboard and ladles the meal in, steam erupting from the hot liquid. The presence has her sit at the table, take a spoon, and bring this concoction to her mouth before the anonymous entity vacates her body as easily as it entered.

It is Mexican potato soup. Her mamá’s Mexican potato soup. The exact same recipe. The exact same taste. The exact same appearance. Not a single detail is left out. The broth coats her tongue. The potatoes are soft between her teeth. The cheese melts deliciously in her mouth.

After she finishes eating, Valeria regains control of her mind and each of her limbs. Her head clears, a cool breeze blowing the mist away from her brain. Her taste buds return and hit her like a train. Her eyes immediately look to the bowl of soup before her.

Valeria’s breath quickens. She inhales and exhales in rapid succession, the pace growing faster. She despises the air once again. She grips the table and attempts to calm her lungs, her heart, her mind. She teeters on the edge of collapsing into an unrelenting abyss.

But nothing works. Everything intensifies and builds onto itself. She imagines herself trapped and scrunched over in a box that shrinks without end until she is crushed and rendered compact inside. I need to leave, I need to leave, I need to leave!

And so she leaves, bursting out her apartment door and running full sprint. She runs down street after street with no idea where her panicked body is taking her. 

#

When Valeria comes back to her senses, it’s already too late. Clarity erupts in her brain just as quickly as the rotting wood of the dock’s guardrail hits her stomach, pain flaring through her: it’s the beach again, the same one where she met the apparition haunting her. The guardrail breaks, her body surges forward, and she flies from the dock, plunging through the surface into the mouth of the vast and terrifying beast known as the ocean.

The sea looks as dark and feels as powerful as the last time Valeria entered it so many years ago. She sinks ever deeper into its infinity, an astronaut lost out in space, doomed to float forever in nothingness, the stars her only companions.

Surrounded by water on all sides, her eyes shoot open wide. She immediately releases what air is left in her lungs. Her arms move around in the water. Everything now tastes of salt.

Valeria wonders if this is how her mamá felt in her final moments. She imagines mamá’s body just feet away from her own, clawing desperately to get back up above the waves— but failing. She pictures the breath vacating her mamá's body and each painful attempt to bring oxygen back into her lungs ending in vain. Valeria watches mamá's eyes stretch open in horror as she realizes she is going to die.

All this to rescue Valeria that day, when the young girl was pulled out by a rip current. Even though her mamá couldn’t swim. The outcome was preordained the moment mamá stepped foot into the water after her daughter.

Valeria believes she will die as her mamá did. That it would be poetic justice. I should have died, not her… It’s my fault, it’s all my fault, I killed her and it’s all my fault…

Valeria submits herself to the ocean and waits for it to kill her and ferry her soul from this awful, empty world, a world without her mamá. She sinks further and further until the end seems nigh. But then, a figure above her dives into the ocean. She sees it swim closer and closer until its face is before her. It is La Llorona.

Good, you do it then. Valeria squeezes her eyes shut and prepares to feel the ghost’s fingers wrap around her neck and squeeze. But, unexpectedly, this does not come to pass.

La Llorona grabs Valeria's right arm. She swims upward and pulls Valeria with her, treating her like a doll again. Their heads resurface, and Valeria coughs, greedily takes in the oxygen, treating it now like a friend rather than an enemy. La Llorona drags her to the shore. When Valeria’s feet finally touch the sand, La Llorona’s grasp remains firm on her wrist. It is not until they are fully free of the ocean that La Llorona stops, takes her hand away, and allows Valeria to catch her breath.

Valeria places her hands on her knees and tries to still her rapidly beating heart. Each gulp of air is a gift to her exhausted body, but they are coming too quickly. Then, two arms wrap around and hold her close. Her breath steadies, and her heartbeat slows to a more regular rhythm.

La Llorona places one hand on the back of Valeria’s head and clasps her to her shoulder as she says, “Don’t ever do that again! You scared me!”

Valeria flinches hearing her voice. It is not the voice she heard come from her before. It is her voice. Her mamá’s voice.

She inhales and once again recognizes her mamá’s scent: tangy citrus, burned cinnamon, sweet vanilla. She recalls tasting her mamá’s soup. She feels the strength of her arms around her and remembers her mamá’s touch. Valeria pulls back from La Llorona and gazes into her eyes. They are her mamá’s as well.

Valeria lets out a cry. The adrenalin abandons her, and she collapses. La Llorona holds her in a tight embrace. She strokes Valeria’s hair and hums her mamá’s lullaby, note for note as melodic and sweet as before.

Valeria weeps, unable to contain it. The water she hates, which stole everything from her, now leaks profusely from her eyes as if it will never stop flowing, not until it consumes all across the earth in a destructive flood. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–”

“Shhhh, it’s okay, chiquita,” La Llorona coos. Valeria hears a smile in her voice. The woman before her is so warm and soft and inviting and utterly familiar. It’s like mamá never left.

Please, if there is a God, never let this end, Valeria pleads. She holds La Llorona like a lifeline. Stop time and keep me here forever. Please…

La Llorona rubs Valeria’s back and nuzzles closer. “Shhhh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. No need to cry. I promised you, yes? And I always keep my promises. You are my child. Mi hija. I would never let anything harm you. Remember: I’ll protect you, no matter what. Siempre.”