The Ending
Liz DeGregorio
Other things on his mind that day included his goldfish, who was on the verge of death.
How can you tell when a fish is about to die?
There is no way, really -- but he had started to suspect. He had a problem of making faulty assumptions. But since he had had the fish for several months at this point, he felt it was time for it to go.
Each day he fed it less and less, as if that would soften the blow when his pet left once and for all. But the fish just seemed more and more anxious, as if it (he had never wanted to offend it by referring to it by the incorrect gendered pronoun) saw its owner gradually detaching himself from his fish.
One day, close to the end, his phone rang. As he was in the process of reading the Sunday Times, he reached over to grab the phone without looking and swept the fishbowl off the table with his arm.
Horrified, he fell to the ground and immediately picked up the fish, as gently as possible. For one brief second, he closed his eyes and felt the delicate scales, the perfection of the tail fins. Then he put the fish into a glass of water that he had been drinking from, and as smoothly as if it was a continuation of the same action, snatched his keys from their hook and drove to the store for a new fishbowl.
The phone continued to ring.
When he returned home, he attached a water filter to his sink and filled the new bowl with clean water. Then he slowly poured the fish into the new bowl. A smile spread over his face as he saw the fish dart back and forth, exploring its new surroundings. The smile grew into a grin as he poured minuscule amount of food into the food (after all, the fish was about to die), and the fish dashed around the bowl to devour the greatest amount of floating food.
That night, he woke up shivering and covered in sweat. He had had a dream, a terrible nightmare. He had dreamt that, instead of picking the beautiful fish up and putting it in his water glass, he had put it into his mouth.
He ran into the living room and stopped a few feet from the new fish bowl, terrified at what he might find. He squinted (in such haste, he had forgotten to put on his glasses) and crept toward the table on which the bowl sat, glistening in the early morning light. As he got closer and closer, he began to see that the fish was still alive and in fact very active for a fish on the brink of certain death.
The relief poured over him like holy water, refreshing and redeeming. For the second time in two days, he fell to his knees beside his fish. This time, he thanked God for letting him wake up from the dream and being able to find his fish.
He fell back into his warm sheets, a blissful smile on his face. As his mind slowed and he slept, the shadows of the coming day crossed his face. The fish swam in lazy circles.
As the sun was setting, the man awoke again. He saw the darkness spreading and leaking through the tree branches outside and was momentarily disoriented. He reached for his clock and was surprised to see that the glowing numbers put the time at well after his normal dinner hour. He thought of the fish -- his fish. It must be time to feed him, just a little bit. He remembered that the fish was nearing the end, and his heart slipped down into his stomach cavity. He drew in a shaky breath and got out of his bed.
Putting on his glasses, he walked over to the fishbowl. His legs were quivering as he anticipated the sight of his fish and the wave of pleasure that was soon to overcome him.
He reached the bowl and peered inside. The fish did not look to be awake yet. His eyes were shut, and his fins were not moving. As he watched, his fish’s body came closer and closer to the surface of the water.
He squeezed his eyes.
The pain he felt while witnessing the death of his fish was not lessened by the fact that he had seen it coming. In fact, building it up in his mind had, perversely, given him some assurance that the fish's death would never come -- that he was protected by the knowledge that the fish’s life was fleeting. But the shock was worse than anything he had ever anticipated. Even in his nightmares, he had not foreseen this blinding rush of pain and sorrow.
He reached up and placed his hands firmly on either side of the fishbowl. Perhaps, he thought, the fish just needed more water. All he really needs is fresh water.
He placed the fishbowl on the toilet seat and turned on the shower. The water ran out of the faucet in a steady stream, powerful and reviving. His heart took flight as he saw a possible -- even probable! -- solution to his problem.
The water quickly filled the tub and began spilling over the edge. With incredibly controlled movements, he lowered himself into the tub, submerging himself and the fishbowl. He squinted for a moment, crossing his eyes and making his vision swim. For a split second, he thought he saw his fish's tail fin twitch. His eyes widened as he realized it was a sign of things yet to come.
Settled in the bathtub, the fish drifted into his lap. He smiled and watched as the water crept out into the hallway and darkened the carpet. He slid deeper and deeper into the water, and his lungs began to sting. But he thought, He needs this. My fish needs to feel how I feel.
As his chest burned and his mouth opened, he heard the phone ring.