A fish came to our house today.
Swimming in his plastic bag, filled with water, tied tightly at the top. Bounced and swung happily in the hands of a giddy five-year-old. Fiercely protected from the grabby, slappy hands of little brothers.
She picked out his tank. She picked out his rainbow pebbles, and ceramic neon rock with holes to hide in. She gave him his name. Zebra. For his black and white stripes and speckles. She invited Grandma and Papa over to introduce him.
She drew a portrait and put it where he could admire himself. She put a scrap of fabric on top of the tank, so he would have a blanket. She found a book about sea creatures, and propped it up beside the tank, opened to a photo of a whole school of fish, so he wouldn't get lonely. She put a paper boat beside him, so he'd have something else to look at.
She sang him a lullaby before bedtime. She tried to teach it to me, so that I could sing it to Zebra again after she herself had gone to bed. It had a lot of words that I can't remember, but it began and ended with "I love you", as all good lullabies should. She went to bed, and fifteen minutes later, reappeared at the kitchen counter to see Zebra just one more time before morning.
Sadly, a fish left our house today.
*****
He seemed a little stuck between the plastic tubing and the side of the tank. I gave the thing a shove and swirled the water around a bit. He dislodged from his hiding spot, and dead-fish floated toward the top of the tank.
Crap.
I felt horrible. Minutes earlier I was complaining about how much of my precious counter space he was taking up and how loud the humming of his air-filter sounded. And now he was dead. And I had to go down the hall and break a little girl's heart.
I cried. Damn fish.
Why did she have to go and make up that song about him? That song is what put me over the edge.
She was already asleep, but I woke her up. Better to find out now, sleep on it, and then feel better in the morning, right?
"Evie, honey, I have some sad news."
"What is it, Mommy?"
"Zebra isn't alive anymore... I'm very sorry."
She furrowed her brow. I put her on my lap and rocked her. We talked a little about how Daddy took Zebra's body away, and how she didn't get to say good-bye, and how it was a sad thing. She took it much more bravely than I thought she would, and frankly, she seemed more concerned about me and my teary eyes, than she did about the fish situation.
She looked up at me.
"Mommy... NOW can I get a cat or a dog?"
Oh, my sweet Evie.
We will talk about it in the morning.
