The Goldfish

The fish are back. The first thing I see when I open my eyes is two of them fighting, hovering just below the popcorn ceiling. Well, that’s a development, at least. I yawn and rub the crustiness out of the corners of my eyes. Another day of school, riding the bumpy bus, homework, reading graphic novels and eating leftover meatloaf. Maybe Sophie will talk to me again. I think we might actually be becoming friends. That would be a first. 

Beside me Madden groans. He’s even less of a morning person that I am. I look over at him and see that a fish has fallen right on his face. That’s one way to wake him up. 

A fish falls onto my own arm. I stare at it, still half asleep. I should really be getting dressed, but my body doesn't want to move. Like all the other fish, it’s bright orange with a big tail. It feels cold and slimy flopped over my naked arm. 

I eventually summon the energy to shake it to the floor, where it lies, unmoving. Another dead one. I go over to our dresser, where four or five more goldfish have gotten stuck. They eagerly swim out when I open it to retrieve the last clean shirt in my drawer. I swat at some low-flying goldfish as I pull on the navy shirt and a half-worn pair of jeans. Madden still hasn’t woken up. Oh well. It’s not my fault if he misses the bus now. 

I brush most of my teeth and slouch into the kitchen for a bowl of Cheerios. Mommy, who’s tiredly sipping coffee at the kitchen table mumbles “good morning”. She tiredly swats a fish away from her toast. 

“The fish are back,” I remark.

“Is Madden up?” she asks. 

“Not at all” I reply, grinning a little. Madden’s never up. 

She shuffles to our bedroom to shake him awake. If I were her, I’d slap him with one of the fish. Nothing else is going to wake him up. 

I don’t want to miss the bus, so I head out alone. Madden makes it just in time to get on the bus, though I don’t think he brushed any of his teeth.

…

I can’t believe it. Sophie is coming over to my house for a play-date! We did it all officially. We called and asked both of her parents and got permission for her to ride my bus home with me. Mommy even promised to make popcorn! This is definitely a first. Our parents have never had anyone from work over. My grandparents never visit us. Madden’s never had a friend over. I’ve certainly never had anyone over. 

It all happened so fast. Sophie came over to talk to me before homeroom, and I told her about the pogo-stick my grandparents sent for my birthday. She said she’d always wanted to try one and asked if she could come over. I, of course, said yes, and offered to teach her. My first-ever play-date!

On the bus, she sits next to me, and we chat the whole way about my pogo-stick, and Phoebe and her Unicorn, which we discover is both of our favorite books. When we arrive at the Sunset Trailer Park, I hop off the bus and show her the way to our place: a dusty-blue trailer right in the corner of the park, next to the woods. We bound excitedly up the front steps, and I politely open the door for her. 

She shrieks. “What are those?!”.

“What?” I ask. 

“The-the-the--those things!” she stammers. 

I peer in my door, trying to see what she’s yelling about. I see our kitchen table, the four chairs around it, and our kitchen with the oven, stove, counters, and cabinets. The goldfish are flying around everything, and lying all over the counters and floor. Nothing to scream about. 

She bolts away from our trailer and off to the edge of the forest, where she flops down at the base of a tree. She looks pale. Shaken. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask tentatively, standing over her. 

“There's… goldfish” she finally chokes out “giant flying ones. Everywhere. And..” She gulps. It looks like she’s swallowing a sob. “There’s so many d-d-dead ones. On everything.”

I don’t know what to say. “Are you… Afraid of goldfish?” I ask. What does she do when they come to her house?

“Well, not normally!” she shouts “Doesn't it bother you at all?”

“When the goldfish visit? I mean, I’m ten now. They scared me when I was really little, but, like, I’m used to them now. They come, like, six or seven times a year after all. So that’s like, seventy goldfish visits since I was born”

“You mean they come often?” she whispers.

“Yeah” I reply, confused, “Don’t yours”

Now it’s her turn to be confused “N-n-no” she stammers “My house n-n-never has flying goldfish in it.”

“Really?” I ask, incredulous. 

She nods. It’s quiet for a while. Finally she wonders “How can you live like this? With slimy goldfish flying everywhere? And d-d-dead ones on everything?”

I shrug. “It’s only the goldfish. We sweep the dead ones out when they're gone. It doesn't take more than an afternoon, and we play fun music.”

She just stares at me. I don’t feel much like popcorn and playing on the pogo-stick anymore.