The story of a man's doomed fish giving him the courage to swim on.
he winter had been rough. In late January, my girlfriend of five years broke up with me
for the guy she'd been dating since early January. In February, my car broke down twice; the repairs cost me more than $600. In March, my grandfather suffered a fatal stroke, leaving my grandmother to fend for herself in the Minnesota hinterland. The weather was cold, the days were short, and the nights were lonely. But I did not despair. I still had my aquarium.
The 38-gallon glass-and-plastic beauty occupied the southwest corner of my spacious three bedroom apartment. Largely ignored by my roommates, it was my baby, and over the past three years I had cultivated a thriving underwater ecosystem with no fewer than five different species of fish. There were three mature Silver Dollars, two very large Red Barbs
known as the Barb Brothers,
Sharky (an iridescent shark),
Ropey (a ropefish) and Marcus
the Plecatamus.
Loneliness never lasted long while gazing lovingly into my living room water world. My fish would dance, play, eat food right out of my fingertips. So long as my fish lived, my hope refused to die.
Alas — like my girlfriend, my grandfather and my car's carburetor — the fish were not long for this world.
Sometime in the early afternoon of April 5,2005,while I was in the shower rinsing away the last vestiges of a wicked hangover, a leak sprung near the base of the aquatic habitat. Exiting the shower, I glanced over at the one thing left that brought light and joy to my life and noticed that the plastic plants inside were drooping mightily. Upon closer inspection, I saw that there was an inch of water left inside the tank, and the fish were
splashing about, confused,
frightened. Shrieking in horror
and still wrapped only in a
towel, I quickly dumped out the
refuse in the trash can across
the kitchen floor, put a new
bag inside, and began filling
the impromptu fish refuge with
lukewarm water.
I managed to fill the trash can half way, treated the water with a conditioner to create a suitable environment for the survivors, and grabbed my trust net, usually reserved for fishing out the decaying bodies of those deemed unsuitable for the tank by Marcus the Plecostamus. First were the three Silver Dollars, who suffered worst in the 1 inch of water because of their 3 inch height. I next netted the Barb Brothers, who were rather calm and reserved about the situation, and then Marcus the Plecostamus as well as Sharky, who required the removal of most of the remaining
Minutes passed.
aquarium ornaments due to their size/quickness. Capturing Ropey proved to be most difficult due to the now browned water dirtied by years of filth, gathering within the gravel.
I then realized that this was the last time I'd see my friends. For three years they'd lived with me, afforded me company and comfort, provided a daily renewal of hope that beautiful things could, in fact, survive and thrive despite this harsh, cruel world. Tomorrow I would wake up alone. I would have only myself to feed in the evening. I would have only my light to turn off at night.
Tear in eye, I loaded the friend-filled trash container into my car and headed off to Pet World to donate my fish. "They're so big," remarked the kind, sorrowful woman at the store. "They sure are," I replied. "The biggest and best fish I've ever known. Make sure they find a good home." I shed one
perfect tear. It fell solemnly into their makeshift refuge, a final gift for my dearest friends.
The fish left me a final gift as well: a moist, glistening example of triumph in the face of adversity. During the aquarium leak debacle, as deadly air began to fill their gills, my fish did not give in to despair — as fish are wont to do). They fought, flopped around and survived against impossible odds. The last image I have of my brave little friends is not one of joyful swimming amongst the brightly colored artificial aquarium plants, nor of the Barb Brothers eagerly eating brine shrimp pellets out of my trembling fingers. It is that of Marcus the Plecostamus, the virtuous chieftain of the school, looking up at me out of that kitchen wastebasket and saying "Thank you, kind master. Because of you we have lived."
"Now, so must you."
01. 26.2006 JAYPLAY
19