After a Poorly-Taught Lesson

in elementary school science class, I was convinced

that all life in the ocean would die out from 

jellyfish overpopulation. When discussing the food chain,

a teacher mentioned to me— the kid who spent hours a day 

on a desktop learning the layers of the ocean,

who wanted more than anything to study the sea 

when she grew up— that jellyfish would destroy

all marine life.

The news came on that night  with no mention 

of the demise of the ecosystem.  Someone has to be working 

on this, right?  With only the knowledge of textbook definitions

and fun-facts to bring up in conversation, 

it was unfathomable that a child 

in rural Pennsylvania was the only one who cared

about 71 percent of the earth ending.

Jellyfish, class scyphozoa, phylum cnidaria.

An absurdly complex name given to an animal

I had only seen in aquariums. They are kept separate

from all other creatures, toppling over each other

in LED-lit tanks for dramatic

effect. I could never tell if they were real— 

barely moving against an artificial

blue background.

I first saw a moon jellyfish 

washed up dead on the beach, enclosed in shells

and seaweed debris. I fought the overwhelming 

urge to touch it; no risk was apparent 

yet I remained far away.  Moon jellyfish, a beautiful name

given to a creature of no substance. A massive 

ocean-destroyer reduced to a tiny, clear puddle. Little kids

collected the washed up jelly carcasses

in plastic beach pails

as if they were nothing. 

I almost found it unfair—  other kids grew up fearing 

jellyfish stings while I sat on the knowledge 

that they do much more. I never got around to debunking 

the fear; hundreds of other factors are working to kill the ocean 

while jellyfish laze in the chaos.  Apocalyptic sounding 

headlines followed me when I thought 

the impact was immediate. A decade later 

the ocean is still standing, a fact

I would have given anything to know.