The Aquarium of Lost Things

Elias stood before the tank, watching the goldfish drift through murky water like abandoned thoughts. His office — corner office, with the view he'd spent thirty years earning — was empty now, save for the cardboard boxes and this one living thing he couldn't bring himself to leave behind.

"Mr. Henderson?" The young HR manager, whose name kept escaping him, hovered in the doorway. She held a termination packet like it might bite. "About your personal items..."

He'd been called a bull in meetings — bullish on markets, bullish on growth, bullish until the board decided bulls were obsolete. Now, at fifty-seven, he was being politely retired. Early retirement, they'd called it. A vitamin supplement for his career.

"Take the fish," he said. "Her name's Margaret."

The girl blinked. "Sir?"

"My wife's name. Margaret. She left me three months ago. Said I married the job. The fish stays."

Elias adjusted his fedora — a ridiculous affectation he'd picked up in his twenties, back when he thought hats made men into characters. Now it was just him, a hat, and a box containing: one framed photo of children who rarely called, one plaque from 1998, one bottle of B12 supplements.

He'd started taking them last year. The doctor said his fatigue was stress-related. Margaret said his fatigue was marriage-related.

The goldfish bumped against glass, its mouth opening and closing in silent accusation.

"You know," Elias said, "Margaret won goldfish at a carnival when we were dating. We put it in a bowl on her kitchen table. It died in two weeks. We laughed about it, standing there in her underwear. She had this scar on her shoulder from a bicycle accident. I used to trace it while we made coffee."

The HR manager's face rippled with discomfort. "I should go. Security needs to lock up."

"Right. Security."

Elias placed his hat on the goldfish tank, covering the small world entirely. Darkness swallowed the fish, the water, the artificial castle. For a moment, everything disappeared.

Then he lifted the hat.

The fish was still there, swimming.

"Keep Margaret," he said. "She's tougher than she looks."

Outside, the city rushed forward without him. Elias adjusted his hat against the wind and walked toward the subway, where somewhere, somehow, life was still happening.