My First Fish Story

 

I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. Gold, shiny, and fascinating to watch. What a creature! It was in a tank with a bunch of other goldfish, but this one was special—and slow, like he was showing off. The aquarium tank was first in a three-tiered arrangement, low enough for my four-year old hands to reach in. Gotcha! I did it! The fish was cool and slippery in my hand but I kept him from getting loose. My mom returned from the fabric aisle of the five-and-ten just as I had palmed the goldfish.

 

“Joey, I’m ready. Let’s go.” I heard her call from behind me.

 

I had to figure out what to do, and fast! Do I put the fish back in the tank, or hide it, or what? Not wanting to get in trouble, I put him in my pocket. 

 

“Okay, Mom.” I turned and walked with her.

 

We stopped at the candy counter for a “Milky Way” and something called “Halvah” that Mom and my Aunt Taggie loved [but I couldn’t stand!]. Then, we walked down to Phil Gold’s, a local corner store, and onto my father’s Flying A station to drop off his dinner. It was between my dad’s gas station and home when I remembered my goldfish. I snuck a peek at him in my pocket. He didn’t look too good. He was stiff, and had turned a strange blue color. His downturned mouth made him look very sad.

 

I gotta get him some water!

 

I petted him and tried to get him to wiggle or something. I was sure he was pretty thirsty by now.

 

When we got home, it was TV cartoon time; then supper; then pajamas; then bedtime. Today’s play clothes got put into the laundry pile. I drifted off to sleep, serene and secure under my covers. 

 

“Joey! Where did this come from?!” My mom was yelling from the bathroom where the washing machine was churning away.

 

“What?” I scrambled out of bed and stumbled into the hallway.

 

Mom was holding my now mummified goldfish by its tail. She just stared at me, then looked at the fish then gave me a second, piercing stare that only a mother knew how to do. 

 

“Oh, I forgot about him. Can we put him back in water and make him swim again?”

 

“No. He’s dead. Where did you get him? How long has he been in your pocket?” 

 

“I found him at the store yesterday when we were there.”

 

“You found him?” She went from staring to glaring as I tried to explain what had happened.

 

“Yeah. He was swimming with a bunch of other fish in the tank.”

 

“And?” She was still glaring.

 

“Then I scooped him up with my hand and had to put him in my pocket ‘cause he was very wiggly.” 

 

“Why didn’t you put him back in the tank?” Still glaring.

 

“I wanted to take him home with me and I didn’t want to get in trouble.” I explained. 

 

“Then we bought the candy and I forgot about him, I guess.”

 

“What on earth were you going to do with him?” Her glare melted into a concerned look.

 

“I was gonna bring him home and put him in a fish bowl and keep him as a pet.”

 

Mom’s concerned look became a smile, then a guffaw, then a smile again as she hugged me with the little corpse still in her hand.

 

“You’ll need to bury him, then we’ll pay for him when we go back to the store.” 

 

Growing up I had come to realize that Mom was a curious balance of honesty and larceny. I would’ve wanted to hear her explaining to God why it was okay to ‘sample’ grapes and candy from the A&P, but we had to pay for a goldfish that I just wanted to pet! We later walked back to the store. Mom could barely contain her laughter over the whole escapade. She paid for the goldfish after explaining the story to a very perplexed cashier!