Conversations with Fish
Muddy sneakers muffled by the moldy carpet, I amble past the murky, grayish fish tanks. I stare at the toadfish for a solid ten minutes, the bumpy brownish creature hiding in his rock. Crouching, I wait patiently for him to pop out, and when he doesn’t, I attempt a conversation.
“How’s it going?” He stares at me from the dark crevasse. “Do you like that new rock?” His wide mouth cracks open. “Do you prefer squid or shrimp?” His mouth closes. I clear my throat, adjust my glasses with my pinkie, and move on.
Behind the overturned plastic seaweed I see the little striped drumfish, always overshadowed by his larger counterpart that won the prime spot in the thirty-gallon tank. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “One day you’ll get your big break and be moved to the big tank.” He swims in a circle. I fiddle with my rubber turtle bracelet from the gift shop, wondering if my words consoled him. I glance at the big drumfish, proudly patrolling the length of the wall. “Don’t pay attention to him,” I whisper into the glass. “You’ll grow too.”
Hearing the click of shells, I turn to see two hermit crabs. I tap the glass. “What are you fighting about?” They ignore me, charging towards each other, claws raised. I shake my head with eyes closed the way my mom does, exhaling loudly. The hermit crabs don’t mind me, though. I huff and let them work it out. I meander among the plastic birds and recycling displays, and wander to the touch tank.
My head rests on my hands, elbows leaning on the cold white tile that surrounds the narrow pool. I watch the flounder’s dark eye darting back and forth in the sandy bottom. In my head I root for a fight between the flounder and the skate, a little stir of excitement, but in the absence of food, nothing moves.
“Why are you still here?” I look up into an irritated face, freckled and red from the sun, framed by a khaki collar. I look down at the frayed, brown ends of my shoelaces, declining to answer.
The counselor grabs my forearm. As I am dragged from my air-conditioned oasis, I look back at the skate, darting gracefully back and forth. I hope he’s a little sad to see me go.
