Goldfish in the Twilight

Margaret sat on the back porch, watching her grandson Leo chase lightning bugs across the lawn. The boy moved with that peculiar, stiff-legged gait children adopted when playing—arms outstretched, groaning theatrically.

"I'm a zombie!" Leo declared, stumbling toward his sister. "Brains!"

Evelyn, six years old and possessing the innate wisdom of her grandmother, merely rolled her eyes. "You're a very polite zombie, Leo. Real zombies don't announce themselves."

Margaret smiled into her tea. Seventy years ago, she'd chased fireflies with her own brother in this very yard. They'd swum in the creek until their fingers wrinkled, water droplets glistening on sun-browned skin. Now her grandchildren played zombie games instead of cowboys and Indians. The costumes changed, but the joy remained.

"Grandma?" Leo appeared at the porch steps, breathless. "Tell us about the goldfish again."

Her heart gave its familiar little flutter at the memory. 1947, the county fair. Her father had won her a goldfish in a small bowl—won it honestly, too, by tossing a ping-pong ball into a fishbowl. She'd named him Lightning, because his scales flashed like summer storms when he caught the light.

That fish had lived seven years. Longer than her first marriage, as she often joked with the wry humor that age had granted her the privilege to voice.

"Lightning was very wise," Margaret told them, setting her cup down. "He'd swim to the side of the bowl when I came home from school, just like a dog greeting its master. He taught me something important—that even the smallest creatures carry love in them, and that love, once given, never really leaves."

Evelyn sat beside her on the swing, suddenly serious. "Is he swimming somewhere still?"

"Oh, sweetheart." Margaret wrapped an arm around the girl's bony shoulders. "He's part of the water now. Part of every river and raindrop. Just like your grandfather, just like all the people we've loved and lost. They become the very elements that sustain us."

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and soft golds. Lightning bugs flickered to life in the gathering dusk.

"Maybe," Leo said thoughtfully, abandoning his zombie routine, "we're all just swimming in each other's love."

Margaret kissed the top of his head. "That's it exactly. That's exactly it."