Earlier this year, I considered May the “Nightmare of The Scream” for I witnessed an old woman’s look of horror with her mouth agape. Go figure. Probably because I have always loved art and I have had a fondness for Edvard Munch’s The Scream, that open mouth reminded me of the painting. I especially have Munch’s caricature of horror seared in my memory because I was so impressionably young when I first studied it in High School and have been trying to write a story based on that lightbulb-shaped head.

Fast forward to this past July, and I am walking the pristine beaches of the Hamptons in New York. So many shells. So many frolicking dolphins. So many dancing terns and sandpipers. So many memories of youth and beautiful summer days with young children, fun siblings, new potential “in-laws”, old parents.

And then? I am spooked beyond belief: a young dead shark, staring like a dessicated and dumbfounded ancient creature frozen in shock…

There is beauty in that petrified “rigor mortis”, but the little shark reminded me of that stupefied old woman, who belonged in the annals of history or an old and yellowed yearbook.

And yet, I couldn’t stop laughing. Hey, I was expecting to see some perfect teeth in the making! It was a baby shark, after all!

The dead toothless shark also reminded me of a little old man who once upon a long time ago grabbed my wrist on a subway in Tokyo with his toothless gums and planted a soft gumless kiss. At the time I stared at my High School friend horrified. And then we laughed! How weirdly odd and sweet was that!

The little old man was tiny and bald and looked up at me and smiled a toothless grin. I hadn’t thought of that memory until I saw The Nightmare of The Scream.