008. Seal tears

He noticed her fighting back tears, and slid a drink across to her.

“The Inuit have a story about the how the first tears were shed,” he said. It was a cheesy pick-up line, but girls seemed to like stories. “It starts with an ice cap full of seals.”

The girl smiled, just a little, because even sad girls like seals and stories and strangers with wine. She took the first sip and smiled a little more.

“A hunter saw the seals and thought about arriving home with so much meat – how happy his wife and children would be when they saw it! He went after one with his knife, but it slid into the water. He went after another, but it escaped too. One by one, all the seals disappeared into the icy water.”

The girl nodded, and moved in a bit closer.

“The hunter was upset,” he said. “All his food was getting away. But there was one seal left – fat and juicy and slower than the others. He crawled up towards it, reached for his knife, poised it above the seal’s throat and – ”

She waited. Her leg grazed his for the first time.

“Splash. It was gone. They were all gone. And his family, who were so close to feasting, would go hungry. The hunter started shaking. His throat became tight. His shoulders shook, and water flowed from his eyes. He’d never felt like this before. Across the ice, his son saw him and ran to fetch his mother. ‘Mum, quick, there’s water coming from Dad’s eyes. What’s wrong with him?’”

The girl smiled, for the first time that evening.

“So the hunter told the story. About the seals they could have had, and how they had got away. His family were so moved by the story that water came from their eyes too. They just stood there, on the ice, shedding the first tears together.”

Her wine was nearly gone now. He looked into her eyes, and the tears had gone too. She lifted her chin towards him and they slid into their first kiss. Soft and warm and electric.

Of course, it would all be downhill from here, but in the moment it felt somehow grand and weighty. First times always do.