The Art of Floating

Elena stared at the goldfish bowl on her desk, its solitary inhabitant swimming lazy circles in the fluorescent light of the open-plan office. Three years she'd spent here, and somehow she'd become like that fish – contained, ornamental, completely forgettable once you looked away.

"You coming to the company padel tournament?" Mark asked, leaning against her cubicle wall. He was the kind of man who used "we" when he meant "you should" and wore optimism like expensive cologne.

She should have said no. Instead, she found herself at the court on Saturday, racket in hand, watching Mark explain the rules with patient condescension. Her ex-husband had loved padel. Their divorce settlement had been cleaner than their marriage – no children, just a goldfish and shared custody of a baseball signed by some player whose name she'd never remembered.

The game began. Elena's body remembered what her mind wanted to forget – the rhythm of court sports, the satisfying thwack of ball against racket, the way competitive joy could temporarily eclipse existential dread. She played ruthlessly, each swing carrying three years of unsaid things.

"You're actually good," Mark said, slightly breathless, slightly impressed.

"Used to play." Elena's phone buzzed in her bag – her ex, asking if she wanted the baseball back. He was getting married. Someone who'd appreciate its significance.

The goldfish had died two weeks after the divorce. She'd flushed it without ceremony, a mercy killing she couldn't give herself. Sometimes she wondered if she was still swimming in invisible circles, waiting for someone to change the water.

"Elena?" Mark was watching her, ball in hand. "Your serve."

She looked at him – really looked – and saw not a colleague, not a potential distraction, but a person suspended in his own bowl of routine. They were all just swimming, pretending the glass walls didn't exist.

"Actually," she said, setting down the racket. "I think I'm done."

Walking away from the court, from Mark's confusion, from three years of floating in place, Elena pulled out her phone. She didn't want the baseball back. But she knew exactly where she could buy a goldfish.