A Personal Narrative
By: Brittany Caruso
It’s Saturday afternoon. I have nothing better to do than sit on the rug in my living room and watch my fish swim. My back is still sore from having slept weird last night, but yet, here I am, sitting with my arms behind my back holding myself up to see the drama unfolding behind the clear glass in front of me. It’s all there. Fifty-five gallons of water, themed beautifully with Asian-esque style decorations and eleven, very personal, very high-strung residents.
The names of the eleven high-strungs are as follows: There’s Silvester, the bala shark. He is the largest of the eleven, but surprisingly, the most timid and skittish of the group. There’s Midas. He’s the golden gourami of the group. Golden…Midas…get it? There’s Dara the angelfish. She is definitely the most delicate of the group, but not shy when it comes to getting her way, or getting out of the way. Mickey, Bullet and Colonel Sanders are the platys. They have sort of formed their own community and definitely have their own clique they strictly adhere to. Kona and Demetri are the two baby platys—born to a beautiful resident who has since passed on. They are formidable, adventurous, and the tiniest and hardest to find among the plants—their favorite hiding place. Tanto is the dalmatian molly. He’s named Tanto, which means “too much” in Italian, because he has so many spots on him that his whole body looks black. I thought it was clever. Then there’s Rogue, the plecostomas, or algae eater. And lastly, Bellatrix le Strange, the upside down catfish. Yes, upside down, because she swims on her back. It’s pretty cool to watch.
So it’s Saturday. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and the weather outside looks reasonably decent. What’s wrong with me? Why am I just sitting here? Where are all my friends? I suppose some of them could still be sleeping. It’s only 1:30pm. Not too late when it comes to college students. But that’s just it. I am a college student. So why am I here, with nothing to do, on a Saturday afternoon, just watching my fish swim? I promise my life is not always this pathetic.
Come to think of it, it’s pretty incredible to think how soothing watching fish swim can actually be. I just noticed my mouth has been wide open for the past five minutes. It’s puts you in a sort of trance. You’re watching your pet fish swim back and forth, up and down, chasing each other, hiding, skimming the bottom for food, everything necessary and simple about being a fish, and yet, as a human being, you’re watching something that is almost completely alien to you, and utterly and completely different from how you function throughout the day. Yet no matter how hard you try, you cannot pull your eyes away from it. You’re stuck in one spot on the floor, hypothetically glued like uncooked noodles to a paper plate in a kindergarten class. Your bottom is sore, your back is aching and your neck is stiff—some of which I’m sure comes from not having slept in the best of positions.
I feel like I should probably rest my back against the couch. I have a feeling I’ll end up being here for a while unless someone decides to calls me. I’m too busy watching my fish to call anyone else. Plus, like I mentioned, I don’t want to wake anyone up.
Midas will not stop chasing Bullet around the tank. I don’t know what his issue is. You’d think Silvester would be the one doing that, considering he’s a shark, but then again he is an absolute pushover. I guess at least he’s got his size going for him. Bullet got away. He’s named Bullet just for that reason—the fastest and brightest-colored fish in the tank—he who knows how to maneuver his way out of any situation. Each resident has their own story, their own personality, their own way of moving around the tank. That is why I take naming them so seriously. Yes, they’re just fish, but they’re mine and they’re unique. I think everything deserves its own name.
Take Dara for example. I was not the one who bought her, but she lives in my tank and is now a part of my fish family. Specifically, the meaning of her name “directly derives from ‘dar’, which means ‘gift.’” She was a gift from a friend, and so, she holds that name. The name Dara also has some connection to an “angel,” as I have come to find in my absolutely pointless research. So the fact that she’s an angelfish plays into her name even better. I can see her now directly facing me. It’s funny really. She’s so big. From the side she’s almost four inches wide and four inches tall, but the second she turns towards you, she almost disappears. Her paper-thin body could escape even the most talented of eyes. Angelfish are smooth and delicate, but if Dara wants to, she’ll shoot off in rapid, jagged swoops around the tank until she feels she’s out of the way or where she feels comfortable. It’s quite a spectacle.
I always wish Bellatrix would come out from her hiding place under the little Asian temple. She’s the upside-down catfish. She only comes out maybe once every two days to feed for a minute or two and then pops right back up under that pointy roof where no one can see her. She is a genius at making herself unknown. Denoting the fact that some people believe fish only have a memory that lasts two seconds, I feel like the other residents are surprised when they see Bellatrix too. I mean if your memory only lasted a couple seconds, every time you turned around you’d be surprised by everything—like in a constant state of revival. Life could never be boring, and even if it did get boring, you’d forget about it in two seconds.
I wonder what it would be like to be a fish for an hour…who would I choose to switch places with if I could? Maybe Silvester? No, he’s too big. I’d want to be able to explore all the hidden parts of the tank too. Maybe Bullet. Or Mickey. Bullet gets chased around too much—I wouldn’t enjoy that. Mickey would be better. He’s good at keeping to himself. But he knows how to be a part of the community too and show his face when he feels like he could use some social interaction. Of course, I just realized if I did switch places with him, I’d still be me and so whatever I would choose to do, I would do. My actions wouldn’t reflect his personality. I guess I’m just trying to see with whom I relate best. I think it would definitely be Mickey. Aside from the fact that I am a huge lover of everything Disney, and the reason Mickey is named Mickey is because he has a Mickey Mouse shaped blotch on his tail, his way of moving about the tank is pretty similar to how I feel I would make my way around the water world as well. I feel like that’s pretty ridiculous to say since my whole life has been lived on solid ground. But I do know how to swim well and I have done my fair share of scuba diving, so I feel like I have at least a small idea of how it would feel to be a fish.
It is two o’clock now. Thirty minutes of eyes-wide, mouth-dropping staring. Who am I? I mean, honestly. This has gone on long enough. I need to do something. I guess I could go check my phone…Wait! I don’t see Colonel Sanders anymore. He was just over there and now he—oh, wait, hold on. There he is, behind that stupid plant. Well, it’s not stupid. I didn’t mean that. How could a plant be stupid anyway? Everything in the tank is so aesthetically pleasing, and a lot of that has to do with the plants. The solid decorations are great and all, but without that little touch of greenery, it would all be rather mute. Just like in a home. You can decorate with the latest and greatest pieces of furniture; have all those sharp edges and beautiful stainless steel appliances and everything, but without a little touch of nature, and greenery, it would all go to waste. That’s just my opinion of course. But I feel that to make any part of your life feel complete, especially your home, you have to have elements of every part of your life—a lot of which is spent outdoors. So why not bring it inside? My silk flowers and plants may not breathe out oxygen, but they have the same feel and appearance of real plants. The outdoors, the indoors, the above water and the below water worlds are all just as important as any other. And having all those worlds together in one, ten by fifteen foot room is pretty spectacular. I really do love this living room. I’ve got everything here. Every world within this world, windows to see to the outside, curtains to shade from the sun if it gets too bright, or to conceal myself during the night when I want to watch a movie on my own; two very comfortable couches, a TV, movies, a nice rug, internet, candles, side tables, and my tank. My lighted, decorated, fifty-five gallons of water filled with life. By far, and now, decidedly, one of the best investments I’ve ever made.
I love that Kona and Demetri always stay together—the babies. They both were born in the tank about nine months ago and are probably three quarters the size they will be when they’re full grown. Both are pretty adventurous and they’ve recently started developing black spots on their little silver bodies, signaling they’ll soon be changing color. I hope they’re bright. The other platys I have are bright orange (that’s Bullet), yellow with black (Colonel Sanders) and a whiteish-yellow with a mickey mouse blotched tail (obvious). The one who gave birth to the babies has since moved on. She was white with a large, bright, crystal-colored blue blotch on her side. I’m hoping one of the babies will have that bluish color too. Their mother was gorgeous. No idea who the father was though.
I’ve had fry before (fry are baby fish), but none of them survived long enough to even make it to an inch in size. That is simply because Silvester would eat them. It’s a rough and tough world in a tank. For whatever reason though, Kona and Demetri were super intelligent and were able to stay hidden long enough to grow behind the safety of the plants until they were large enough to come out in the open. Silvester can’t eat them now. His mouth isn’t large enough for them. Also, Kona and Demetri are skillfully speedy swimmers. I consider the two of them to be my trophy fish of sorts. They’re my pride and joy.
I’ve never really ever stopped to think about how involved a fish’s life is actually. It just seems like a lot of monotonous swimming, but then again, there is so much to it. For instance, being one of the smaller fishes, you have to fight to grab enough food for yourself before it’s all gone. It’s absolutely crucial to your survival. There’s no “let’s have the little kids eat first and then the big kids.” It’s all at once. It’s crazy and it’s hectic. You have to know all the ins and outs of your surroundings, you have to know who is safe, and not so safe, to approach; and you have to know when you should stay and stand your ground, or just turn around and make a quick break for it. Also, how do you sleep? That is something I’ve never understood. You can’t just stop swimming. You’ll turn belly up—literally.
I think it’s starting to rain now. The sky was so blue a minute ago. Maybe I misread the light coming through the curtains. It’s been known to happen once or twice before…Yep, it definitely is. Maybe that’s why no one’s called. The rain shouldn’t stop anyone from doing anything, but it sure is a pain to have to deal with—especially in the city, where you don’t have a car, and you have to carry a dripping, wet umbrella with you everywhere. I probably wouldn’t call to hang out with anyone either. I’m content with staying inside. Hmm, yet another reason why it would be great to be a fish—at least for a little while. There’s no rain. At least not where you’re swimming. It can’t rain underwater. And even though all the rain is, is water, it’s a lot of water and you’re already wet, so you don’t have to worry about getting more wet.
Whoops, I completely forgot about my phone. I mean, I guess there’s no point now anyway since it’s raining. I’m not going to make anyone come to my place, and I’m sure not going to leave here. I’m warm and cozy right where I am. Plus, if I get bored of watching the fish, I’ve got my television right in front of me. Perfect distraction.
You know, it’s crazy to think that these eleven little fish will never know anything else outside of their tank home. The only bits of action they will ever get to witness are what happens inside the tank, and what happens in my living room. I guess they can see parts of the world when I turn the TV on, but that’s just ridiculous. Fish don’t watch television. I don’t even know if they’d be able to see the screen from the angles of the glass. You have to wonder though, what would that be like? Living your whole life in the same place with the same neighbors, with the same daily, ritualistic routine, waiting to get fed at the end of the day, with nothing to do but swim; and with nothing new to explore, because you’ve seen as much of your world as you possibly can. Of course, there was that one time I completely redecorated the tank…it took forever. I had to take all eleven residents out and place them inside a painter’s bucket—filled with water, obviously. Then I had to remove all the decoration pieces and plants, wash everything off, put each piece away and replace them with new objects. Then, by hand, I had to go back and forth between the kitchen and the living room with a bowl full of water to fill the tank back up. And after two and a half hours of that, I finally put every high-strung back in so they could get used to their new home. I think they enjoyed the process as much as I did, but I don’t think I’ll ever do it again. Way too much effort. It does look fantastic though! Before, I had the back end of a sunken ship with a few plants on the opposite side of the tank with Spongebob’s and Squidward’s houses in the middle next to the Krusty Krab with miniature Spongebob, Plankton, Sandy, Squidward, Gary, Mr. Krabs and Patrick figurines. Bikini Bottom never looked so good! Compliments were always flying when someone new came over.
It’s three thirty now. It’s been two hours and I’m still here. I guess I could be productive and wash dishes or something. But I’m glued. In fact, I don’t even know if I have any dirty dishes at the moment. In fact, I hardly even remember yesterday right now. I literally woke up, came out here to my living room for a reason that has now long since escaped my mind, sat on this rug and started watching my fish. I wonder how long it would take to count every pebble on the bottom of the tank? No way. I’m too tired for that. Either I’m too tired, or too much in a daze to think of anything else. I shouldn’t be tired. It’s not like I’m doing anything physically exhausting. I’m just sitting here, thinking. What would it be like to be a fish for an hour? Why would I want to be a fish for an hour?
That’s it! Let’s forget for a moment that I have a life—a crazy, busy, bustling, day to day life, filled with emotions and people and family and friends and worries and cares that leave me completely exhausted, and completely restless by the end of the day. Which by then, I can’t even achieve the satisfaction of a full night’s sleep because I’m too exhausted to even have to get ready for bed or think about sleeping. I feel like being a fish for an hour would be like achieving at least three full days of uninterrupted, delicate and beautiful sleep. As a fish you’re floating. You’re swimming. You’re much less weighed down—figuratively and literally. You can be alone or you can interact with anyone at any moment. You don’t have anyone else to worry about. You’re free. Free from life. Free from mistakes. Free from having to make life-altering choices. Just free. That would be it. To be completely submerged in a different landscape, and apart from society and the world and everything, even just for a little while. For an hour. That’s all that would be needed to appreciate it. To not have a single humanistic care or worry. Meditation couldn’t even come close to that.
I think I need to change the filters soon. I wish Petco wasn’t such a pain to get to. This would all be so much easier. I wonder if I could just…oh, my phone!
Mary’s calling. Finally!
“Hey! How’re you doing?”
…
“I’m good. You will not believe what I’ve been doing for the past two hours…”
Narrative Nonfiction
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