A street is only as gold as its fish

Living in a city that has buildings on top of buildings and more buildings within those buildings and pigeons living up over around above and below other pigeons…a lot of stuff comes in, but at a certain point it can’t come in unless something comes out. I’ve certainly gotten some good furniture and books (pre bed bug scare). A guy I work with got a great bike that just needed a tire fixed. My friend Collin once found a full size lady mannequin, only she had two left feet and a hole in her head. We all agreed having two left feet must have been terribly shameful for her as a model and ultimately led to her suicide. It was done quietly, effortlessly, out on display. One final pose, two beautiful slippers (one green, the other purple since they only had one pair of the green in her size and with two left feet you always need to have two pairs of shoes if you want a match). Her long, demur body posed so that her blank face stared down at the slippers, both slanting right, poking out from under a long flowing dress. One hand bent to her hip, the other holding the gun. Bang! That was some window display.

Today was another interesting day for city garbage. I was on my way to the grocery store when I passed a bowl of goldfish on the ground. I stood transfixed, staring down. After a while, I looked up and saw Sophie at the other end of the street walking toward me. By the time she got to me, I had already spent what seemed like an eternity thinking about what kind of person I was and what that kind of person should do in this situation. I wished either she or the fish or me would disappear.

We smiled, forced some chit chat about our weekend plans, which beach to go to, how good it feels to take it easy some nights. Her expression suddenly changed to curiosity and I knew she had spotted the goldfish over my shoulder.

She stepped around me to get closer. “They’re alive! Look! There’s 2 of them swimming around…wait, no 3 of them, I think, that little one might be dead I can’t tell.”

“No he is alive, just slow moving. I’ve been staring at them for awhile. I think they are eating their own shit.”

“Why are they out here?”

“Why is anything out here? It’s garbage. The owners probably thought it would be no problem just to leave them on the curb like a box of Michael Crichton novels and Ikea dishes!

“Woah. You seem pretty upset. They’re just fish. Someone will take them.”

“Will they? Or will people come up and stare at them and say “Aww…fish, someone will take them.” And this will just happen all day and all night until they die a long slow death that was filled with hope up to the very last second. And beyond that, I mean, if they were dogs these Park Slope assholes would be all up in arms about animal cruelty. But leaving fish in an old vase filled with murky hot water and fish droppings, sure, that’s totally humane.”

“So, why don’t you take them home?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? You’re so up in arms over them, why don’t you stand up for the little guys?”

I paused and look through Sophia and through the fish toward the direction of my apartment. I looked through the walls and saw my desk. I saw the picture that sits atop my desk– Matisse, “Woman before an Aquarium.” I wanted the goldfish to stare at me. I wanted to have those orangey red crescents swimming around my home. I could sit there for hours, contemplating their existence and mine, reflecting on the futility of it all. The fish would be there when I needed someone to talk to, and they would be silent when I just needed someone to sit with. My need for others would slowly fade. I’d barely have to leave the house, save for fish food. I could essentially drop out. It could be amazing.

 

“Look, Sophia, deep down, I’ve always wanted to be a cat lady, but I hate cats. You’re right, someone will take them.” She looked at me like I was lying. I was lying. Not about the cats, I really do hate cats. She knew what I meant though, and I think she was relieved. She wasn’t ready to have to deal with pulling me back out of another abyss. We said our goodbyes and I continued down the street, thinking about all the reasons why someone would get rid of goldfish by putting them on the street instead of flushing them down the toilet.