If you were wondering, there are twenty-six different types of shark tooth necklace straps at the Baltimore Aquarium gift shop. They vary in size, color, and material—some crafted of leather, others of beads, and still yet some of silver chains. Of those twenty-six different necklace straps, each shark tooth pendant is completely unique—each its own shade of cream. The possibilities are endless—so why I convinced my boyfriend (who just so happens to tap his foot twice on the first step to a bus before taking the next step, and just so happens to sort through Q-tips to find the “right” ones and throw away the “bad” ones) to pick out the necklace he likes the most is now appearing on the next episode of
Unsolved Mysteries. He had to carefully inspect each necklace by picking it up by the clasp, making sure it worked, and pinching the shark tooth in-between his thumb and pointer finger to see how it would score on the rock hardness scale. He had to see if the color had any flaws by bringing it within two inches of his eyes. If there was a speck— it was flawed. Next, he had to try it on, to make certain the length of the strap as well as the size of the tooth fit appropriately to his body type.
“Should I really go with the leather strap?” He quizzed me at least twenty times.
Even if he went with the leather strap, “Should I go with the light beige or deep brown or this one that looks like amber? Here, Liz, hold these.”
I was instructed to make three different piles: The “Yes,” “Maybe,” and “No” pile. In the “Yes” pile I held the ones that he wrapped around his neck and were approved by glancing at a nearby mirrored wall. As he gazed at his new look, he smiled then posed with varying facial expressions—seeing if this necklace would fit his many moods. I think once, though it may be my imagination, he actually smelled a shark tooth pendant. The scent must inevitably be an important factor for all your shopping needs. The “Maybe” pile consisted of the pendants that were too perfect to reject, but the strap was definitely the wrong shade of brown. The “No” pile did not even get the chance to go past the first step of inspection. The piles grew larger, and my hands grew heavy. The teenager behind the register thought we were buying necklaces for our 200 hundred children we left at home.
“Liz!” He spoke my name as if I was his mother. “Liz, did you see these!” He moved to the next wall—the next wall—that stood at least seven feet tall. From top to bottom, it was full of seashell and beaded necklaces. He ran his finger through the rainbow of tiny fragmented seashells on a string. The movement caused a sweet chiming noise, but to me, it sounded like the
Jaws theme song. Dun-na. Dun-na. Dun-na. I had to do something before he attacked these innocent necklaces.
So, before he could slide a necklace off the racks, I pushed my way between him and the display.
“This one! This one! This one is so you,” I lied, and grabbed a multicolored puka shell necklace that was designed for a five year old girl. Just as I took it closer to the register, Keaton replied, “Oh, nevermind. Guys don’t really wear necklaces anymore. Let’s go look at the exhibits.”
And if you are wondering, there are exactly four sections in the Baltimore Aquarium. In those four sections, there are a total of 25 subsections consisting of exhibits, restaurants, galleries, an atrium to a dolphin show, and more gift shops. However, unbeknownst to me there is an order and time limitation assigned to each area which can be found in
Keaton’s Top 10 Tips Visitor’s Guide located at the front desk.
After you pass the front desk, there are these large bubble tubes that connect the floor to the ceiling. They light up a bright cyan and leave cylinder shadows on the carpeted floor. While Keaton took a hold of the guidebook and began to map out our adventures, I danced through the maze of bubble tubes, weaving in and out of its massiveness.
“Lizzy Lou Lou, be careful, you don’t know who has touched those already.” I checked my purse to see if I brought my fingerprint test analysis kit with me, but instead I found my camera.
“Can I take a picture of us with the bubbles in the background?”
He walked over with his head down, and his eyes on his watch. “We need to hurry if we are going to be in time for the dolphin show. I suspect there will be a line; so, let’s get there early. Then, after that, the Immersion Theatre has a showing immediately afterword. We can catch that, then, we’ll have the rest of the time to visit the exhibits. You can pick where we go first…” I snapped a shot just as he was setting the timer on his wristwatch.
Of course I forgot I had the zoom to maximum on my camera, so I was instructed to take the picture until both of our faces were properly placed in the frame.
Just I finished, “Go! Go! Go!” I was a soldier in combat who must reach her destination before a fleet of bombs reached me from overhead. Keaton led the way with a march-like run. I followed behind in a clumsy gallop as I became too distracted by the all window wall that looked out into the Baltimore Harbor. A ship was sitting proud in the dock painted up as a shark like a child with face paint.
There was no line to get into the dolphin show. There was just a massive pool surrounded by nearly empty bleachers. We both stood without moving—each waiting for the other to pick a seat.
“There is no one in the Splash Zone Area…and we might get a little wet…” I spoke almost in a squeal excited about the possibility of water tickling my nose.
“I’m wearing Steve Madden’s.” Up until this day I always wondered why he was wearing a comedian’s shoes until I realized Steve Madden and Steve Martin are not the same person.
We eventually found our way to the row behind the Splash Zone seats. Then, seconds later sat one row behind that one…”just in case.” No one got wet who sat in the Splash Zone even as the dolphins sped past waving their flippers up and down—smacking the clear pool water. The dolphin trainer spoke long speeches about conservation and dolphin training and I forgot what, but I remember how Keaton’s hand find mine and how he let my flip flop rub up against his Steve Madden’s without worry if they were wet or dirty.
The dolphin show ended in great applause, and people from the bleachers lingered at their seats—chatting and laughing and eating pretzels they brought from home. But, as soon as the dolphin trainer said goodbye—Ding!—Keaton’s wristwatch let out a warning it was time to get moving.
He grabbed my hand tightly, and we took large leaps over the bleacher seats. There was no need to fight through a motionless crowd, but I think he liked taking the lead, and I let him. I let him weave in and out of lingering individuals as if we were the only ones who knew there was a fire and the Aquarium roof was going to fall in seconds.
But I had to eventually let go. When we reached the exit by going down a set of stairs (I think he tapped his foot twice before descending), I had to stop and look and the underwater tank of dolphins. He didn’t notice I strayed behind, and he already started going up another set of stairs to the Immersion Theatre.
A dolphin’s body slid past the glass, and I outreached my hand in hopes it would come back. I saw it twist its way around and around like a county fair ride that spins too fast. It was so free in that tank…but not as free as it could be in the ocean. I looked away and saw Keaton looking down at his watch, tapping his feet on the top of the stairs. He stood there like he was waiting for Godot. For a brief moment, I simply stayed below the stairs with my hand resting on the tank…watching my boyfriend calculate the minutes…the seconds…planning and re-planning and taking into account I was setting up a delay.
“Come look at the dolphin swim.”
“We just saw the dolphins.”
I left the tank and walked up the stairs. I would rather swim in a pool than in the ocean too.
“I love you.”
Up the stairs, we saw a sign: Shark Shop.
That night when we were home, Keaton proceeded to do goodnight rituals. Pick up one neatly folded pair of penguin pajama bottoms with gray shirt, head to the bathroom, take off his jeans first then his shirt second, put on his pajama bottoms, then his gray shirt, take out his contacts (right eye first), put on his glasses, use a Q-tip to clean his ears (right ear first), open the tooth paste bottle, brush his teeth, close tooth paste bottle, and come out of the bathroom and say, “Lizzy Lou Lou, it’s your turn.”
My turn for my goodnight rituals—pick up whatever and throw them on whenever. However that night after the Aquarium, after the shark tooth necklaces, after picking a seat to the dolphin show, after a timed schedule, when I went to brush my teeth, the toothpaste bottle was open. I closed it.
