Beneath the Water

Megan Cope’s Bated Breath made me hold my own. Not because I was struck by any deeper meaning, but because it was beautiful. Silver, sparkling, curved shadows on the wall, a school of elegant creatures caught in the air like crystallised raindrops, all reflected on the clear, delicate mirror below. The school of fish, some swaying slightly on their wire nooses, are prisoners of sorts, but I cannot feel sorry for them. Their lovely bright silver scales and smooth tails hold every eye, beautiful and lovely from all angles.

The term ‘bated breath’ was first used in Shakespeare’s play The Merchant of Venice, one of the many terms he wrote into existence. To have bated breath is to hold one’s breath in anticipation, awaiting with eager expectation (Vocabulary.com, 2021). It makes me think of the makeover scenes in the movies I grew up on, a staple in every coming-ofage 2000s rom-com. When Samantha in A Cinderella Story descended the stairs in a sparkling white ballgown, my breath was hooked in my throat. The same thing happened when overall-wearing Laney Boggs stepped onto screen with a new haircut and a magenta-red dress in She’s all that The formula to finding bated breath, it seems, is as follows: a pretty dress, a young girl, and a long set of stairs to descend.

Shakespeare probably never had a makeover scene of his own, never walked down a stairwell in a long, princess ballgown. He did occasionally stand before an audience, starring in his own plays in the later years of his life, choosing a life beneath the spotlight as well as behind it (Shakespeare online, 2021).

I consider myself a writer now, but as a young girl I wanted to be an actress. I performed monologues and poems and prose in front of a small audience of family and friends and teachers. I was so nervous I could barely breathe before each performance, trembling before the mothers and fathers who sat by children who were as nervous as they were bored. I read excerpts from the likes of Antigone, Great Expectations, and Pride and Prejudice, feeling the dusty grey silence wrap around me as I stared at the face of the ticking clock at the end of the room.

People used to hold their breath for me. My drama teacher with her bright red glasses and matching lipstick saw my future filtered in camera flashes and adoration. Marching into the WAAPA end-of-year auditions, Shakespearean excerpt in hand, I knew I would get in. I would like to say I didn’t try very hard, but I did. Growing older was too scary, so I wanted to stay 17 forever, kept youthful underneath the glow of yellow theatre lights and unblinking eyes.

The letter of acceptance never came. I turned 18, then 19, and then 20. Birthdays stopped being exciting and instead were replaced with that sick feeling in your stomach like you can feel time moving too fast and you simply can’t keep up.

When I disappear beneath the surface of the water, being replaced by another pretty, shining girl on a stairwell, when I can no longer fit all the candles on my own birthday cake, who will I become? If we exist when no one is watching, do we even exist at all?

I visit my nan weekly, or I try to. She sits alone in the house she proudly owns, full of unwon lottery tickets and half-drunk teas that have started to sprout mould. Often, she is dressed in an old floral nightgown, her same worn purple slippers warming her feet, sitting in her chair watching reruns of Bargain Hunt! or another show she pretends not to like about Americans with absurdly big fish tanks.

She tells my sister to bring her the photo albums from her towel closet, forgetting that we did this last Saturday, and the one before. My favourite album is cream-coloured, with two little embroidered bells on the front. Inside are photos of the 20-year-old version of my grandmother, a stranger to me, dressed for her wedding day. Never once does she say she looks beautiful, instead using her perceived flaws as signposts on her trip down memory lane.

I catch her in the mirror sometimes, staring at herself like a stranger she hasn’t yet learned to live with. I wonder whether she ever descended a set of stairs, whether she watched her audience below and felt the promise and adoration that only comes from bated breath. I wonder if she too holds onto those moments and wonders if she disappointed the people who thought she would shine forever, only until she grew older.

Shakespeare had a life after he retired. He visited friends, hosted parties, even helped younger playwrights develop their work (Folger Shakespeare Library, 2023). My nan divorced the man she married when she was 20, letting his memory and name disappear from her life and her lips. The people who knew her when she was glistening and new are no longer present, long gone from her life, or this world. I have only ever known her as the woman with a sharp tongue, the amateur baker who lives alone, who can still thrash me at scrabble at the age of 90.

Megan Cope’s fish will never reach the water, burdened to be nothing more than a beautiful and impactful piece of art, perfect forever.

Or perhaps, when the last person leaves the gallery, quietly murmuring about what they will make for dinner, the fish come to life. Perhaps they move their tails clumsily, inelegantly, maybe their scales begin to lose their silver lustre. Perhaps they dip beneath the water, reach the bottom of the stairs, and feel grateful knowing that no one is watching.

Folger Shakespeare library. (2023). William Shakespeare: A biography https://www.folger.edu/explore/shakespeares-life/

Shakespeare Online. (2021). Shakespeare the Actor and Playwright http://www.shakespeareonline.com/biography/shakespeareactor.html Vocabulary.com (2021). ‘bated breath’ vs. ‘baited breath’ https://www.vocabulary.com/articles/pardon-the-expression/bated-breath-vs-baited-breath/

Author’s note

I have always loved beautiful things, so when I saw Bated Breath, glimmering in a dark corner of a room, I was immediately captured. Bated Breath is expertly crafted and thoughtfully created and will likely never lose its lustre or perceived beauty, unlike those who view it. I use my piece ‘Beneath the water’ to explore my angst towards growing older and losing my value and appeal. I have always found that writing about my own fears makes them a little less frightening, and I hope that readers and writers alike will find bravery in our shared experiences.

Jessie Hiscox has recently graduated with a Master of Arts from Curtin University, where she majored in professional writing and publishing. Jessie is passionate about exploring how language creates meaning, and how words serve as a tool for inspiration and empowerment.