Death of a Goldfish
Deanne D'souza
22 June 2008, 00:42‘My goldfish died’. I turned to follow the words and traced it to a face that betrayed the strangest emotions. Emotions of deep sorrow reflected in the eyes of my dear friend. A heightened sense of loss that I was oblivious to. I said the smartest thing that came to my mind, ‘Oh, replace it then’. A second later, I realized, not so smart! The traces of sorrow so evident turned to bewilderment and finally a look of annoyance before Mathew walked off in the opposite direction. Still oblivious to what he was feeling, I continued about my day’s work.
Come lunch, Mathew sat at a different table. Mathew never sits at a different table. But today he did. I did not pry. Perhaps I thought, he just needed that much needed space after a hectic half day at work. But this strange behavior continued for a week. I was perplexed. Work should not take up so much of a man’s thoughts. I finally confronted him about this peculiar patter of behavior and all I was received with was a cold response ‘Oh, you still don’t get it’. Get what? I asked myself? I dare not have asked him. Under the composed expression on his face I could almost feel the heat of a fiery argument. But I had to say something. So I talked about our favorite luncheon conversation – our arrogant manager. It didn’t get too far when Mathew excused himself on the false pretext of a smoke and walked away.
It was another week of silence before Mathew and I got to finally talking. After an apology that I still had no reason for, the fine lines of irritation on Mathew’s forehead finally eased into a smile. He canningly mentioned, ‘ I’ve finally come to terms with the reality. I have accepted it… ‘. I looked encouragingly at him. I always liked the unbeaten, unthawed spirit of men. I liked what he said. I still had no indication of the background to which it was said in. None the less, I always liked optisimism. ‘I’ve come to terms that death is inevitable. Even for a goldfish. I guess I took it hard because he was just not my pet. He was a part of my everyday..’. I was shocked. All of this for a goldfish?!
As I sat at my workstation and gave some thought to that conversation, it was beyond me to understand the emotional attachment of man and his tame beast. I never grew up around animals. Sure the street guardians were worth a pet or two, but I never stayed long enough to feel a sentiment of affection or attachment beyond that. I got curious. Curious to understand this connection that people and their pets have. So birthed in my mind and heart, an eagerness to feel what they feel, see what they see, love as they love, experience a companionship that communicates itself through the silence of observation, a communication that expresses itself more powerfully than verbalized emotions.
I couldn’t get a pet. Living with parents who made it clear that our house was big enough to hold only one beast of its kind – me or the dog! I chose to stay. They agreed with my decision. So I did the next best thing. I adopted our neighborhood friendly stray. I ran into lively little Bubbles at the corner shop while I was on my way to pick up groceries. Deeply engaged in a conversation with the grocery vendor, the sudden tug at my shoelaces bought my attention face to face with a brown ball of fur with lively black eyes and a prance to his stride. I knew I loved him instantly. Forgetting all about the purpose to my trip I instinctly reached down to pet him. Playful as he was, he jumped right out of my hand reach. I liked this little tease and I wasn’t about to give up. Thus stared the game of catch and escape. I tried to seduce his attention by offering some biscuits. He gave in but only as long as his hunger did. Then he was off to jumping and teasing again. My love affair with Bubbles had begun.
Household chores to the grocery store no longer appeared tiresome. Bubbles was always there to greet my entry. He always seemed to find a way to make my day. My trips were longer. And the time apart from him, was spent talking about him or jus plainly thinking about him. I would buy him doggie treats that he loved. And in exchange to show his appreciation he would do a few somersaults to amuse and thrill me. Bubbles was my hero. I realized how much I loved him with everyday spent with him or spent away.
Three months and 17 days later, on my usual trip to the grocery store, I learnt Bubbles was run over by a rash driver. I cannot explain the pain that wedged at my heart, tore me from the inside. I tried to hold back the tears and biting hard on my lower lips only seemed to hurt more. I retreated to the quiet of my own home. I tried to reason why someone as adorable as Bubbles had to die for no fault of his. He was my pet. He was my everyday. And now I had a piece of me taken away and I would never get it back. I didn’t want another Bubbles. I wanted my own Bubbles. I cried. I cried until I bared my heart to an empty room. In a puddle of my own tears I quieted myself. It hurt to think of him right there. It hurt to remember. I wanted to hold him again. I wanted to cradle his playful face in my hands and tell him he was the most beautiful baby I ever held. I wanted to pet him behind his ears till it tickled him to annoyance. I wanted to touch the tip of his wet nose and then blow a kisses in the air to let him know he was loved. But all I could do was bury my already tearful face deep in my pillow and cry some more.
The next day I saw Mathew. He was busy with some paper work. Even as I walked towards him, it did not take him to long to notice my vain attempt to smile. I held his hand for a brief moment. Three months and 18 days later…In barely a whisper, I murmured “I finally understand the death of a Goldfish”
