| It is forenoon, the summer of the 1958. My | | | | alert like owls-alarmed (her adrenaline has kicked |
| mother just went downstairs, she says, "I won't | | | | into high gear) within them I can see trouble for |
| be long; I got to wash a few cloths." | | | | me: her expression is sudden, intent and |
| I'm at the sink, cleaning out my fishbowl. Grandpa | | | | concerned. My eyes are like marbles, the fish is in |
| is outside, trimming the lilac bushes; my brother is | | | | the sink wiggling all about (perhaps having a good |
| someplace with his new go-cart. As I was about | | | | old time), but to me, I sense they might go down |
| to say, I'm cleaning the glass of the fish bowel in | | | | into the drain (I tell myself this anyhow): I trip |
| the kitchen, that is, taking the rocks out: replacing | | | | over my tongue, my words stutter out slowly: |
| the water, cleaning the rocks, and I'm looking at | | | | everything is upside down in my head, words |
| my goldfish (I'm eleven years old); I remain | | | | coming out but saying only "fish...fas...fa...sh...help!" |
| standing at the sink in the kitchen, kind of in a | | | | I look at her and the fish: her and the fish: her |
| tight body position, sizing up the situation, I think | | | | and the fish "Calm down," she says, then looks in |
| I'm thinking how am I going to get this fish from | | | | the sink, adds that sentence: |
| the water it is in, to a glass in the sink, a transfer | | | | "Fish...all this over fish...? What's the matter with |
| process, that has to be done fast, lest I drop the | | | | you, I thought you were dying!" |
| fish into the sink and heaven knows what then, I | | | | She looks in the sink again, at me, at the fish in |
| think I am doing too much thinking, when this | | | | the sink, at me, grabs the fish, puts them into the |
| should really be a simple process. | | | | fish bowel, one grab, two fish, so easy, too easy |
| Now I got everything ready: the new water, the | | | | I say to myself, adding: now why couldn't I do |
| rocks are back into the bowel, and I'm about to | | | | that? |
| put my goldfish back into the bowl, and I'm | | | | "Explain to me," she says, puffing from the ordeal |
| thinking-again thinking I have to do this fast lest I | | | | running up the basement stairs, and examining the |
| drop the fish in the sink, then what (?) I am again | | | | situation, "what is the emergency for all this |
| sizing up everything, and again doing too much | | | | screaming (she hesitates) the fish?" she asks |
| calculating on this simple matter, and I learned | | | | staring into my marble eyes-frozen in time, with |
| from this episode in life, not to think too hard, lest | | | | her sudden, intent and lack of concern for my fish |
| you get paralyzed in the process, so again I tell | | | | (knowing there is really no emergency). |
| myself, 'do it!' drop the goldfish from here to | | | | She of course knows it's the fish, and I |
| there in one strive, one swish of my hands will do | | | | overreacted, but I was never one for |
| it, but carefully, so I pick it up, my glass with the | | | | under-reacting, at least in those early days, I think |
| fish in it-the goldfish, my intentions are to drop | | | | she knew this, and simply asked for an |
| the fish into the rounded top the hole in the glass | | | | explanation, not sure why, because she knew at |
| bowel now-and I know I got to be quick-especially | | | | this point what had taken place, perhaps to calm |
| coordinated; I will have one chance, only one | | | | me down. |
| chance, but I'm ready, or so I tell myself. | | | | "I couldn't get the fish...it was, they were...go, |
| I notice the fish are feisty very lively today | | | | gooo...ing to go down the drain, I thought I was |
| (perhaps overfed them yesterday, I tell myself; | | | | going to kill them, I mean, it was going to die in |
| incidentally, there are two goldfish): two quick | | | | the drain...I got...I couldn't get it, it, it...thought it |
| witted fish, I think they are quicker than me | | | | would stop breathing...!" |
| anyhow, and I get the notion they do not like this | | | | "Do you want me to have a heart attack?" she |
| small glass environment; it is perhaps likened to a | | | | says to me now, with a civil voice: no more |
| closet, compared to where they had come from. | | | | concern, no more anger, just a sigh of relief, and |
| Now I raise the glass up and as I start to pour | | | | a time for cooling down. |
| the water into the glass, with the fish in it, into | | | | "Does not call me up those stairs again to save |
| the glass bowel: the fish, the glass, the bowel all | | | | another fish, next time...just make sure there is |
| looking at me, the glass I took my eyes off for a | | | | no next time, ok? Pickup the bowl, and put it |
| second, just a second, a clap of an eyelid, and my | | | | where it belongs!" |
| eyes seemed to have went into a process of | | | | "Yes," I said, my tongue still a little tied, from the |
| adjusting, as a result, the glass hits the rim of the | | | | panic; now looking at my goldfish swimming |
| bowel, and the fish fall head first (both) into the | | | | around safely in my fish bowel, and my mother |
| sink, and I panic, I am near hyperventilating, and I | | | | walking down the steps to the basement to finish |
| rush, rush, rush to save my goldfish, fingers all | | | | her washing. |
| over the place, and they are squirming, sliding out | | | | If you are asking, 'Was it worth it-' yes, I think |
| of my hands: they are going to die! I tell myself, | | | | so-but I'd never tell my mother that, and I'm |
| death is lingering over them, and dread over me, | | | | sorry I caused her to think the worse had taken |
| and I'm responsible: I'm in a terror, fright, | | | | placed. She was protective in her own way, and |
| alarm...god, what can I do...?do...do...do! | | | | perhaps came to fight a whale, and found out it |
| I scream: "Mom...mom...my fi...as...fa...s...help!!" | | | | was a goldfish-: if anything, she was spunky, but |
| My mother comes running up the stairs, thinking | | | | that is part of being a parent and I was a kid, |
| there is a tornado, or earthquake about to take | | | | learning, and she was teaching, that's how it |
| place, or perhaps I fell into the fish bowl. Her face | | | | works on this planet. |
| is not calm, and sullen, her eyes are brooding and | | | | |