The Fox at First Base

The goldfish had been floating sideways for three days before Elena finally accepted it wasn't going to recover. She buried it in a margarine tub behind the apartment complex, next to the rusted bicycle rack where she'd first kissed Marcus six years ago.

That afternoon, she found herself at the lakefront park wearing his old baseball cap—the navy-blue one with the faded White Sox logo. She should have thrown it away with the rest of his things after he left for Portland with that woman from his accounting department. But some objects accumulate weight beyond their physical mass.

A fox appeared at the edge of the baseball diamond where she sat. It moved with deliberate grace, not like the ragged scavengers she'd seen rummaging through dumpsters downtown. This fox was sleek, its coat burning autumn-orange against the greying sky. It watched her with something that looked uncomfortably like recognition.

"Waiting for someone?" a voice called.

Elena jumped. A man stood near the backstop, baseball glove in hand, maybe thirty-five with silver threading his temples. He'd been hitting fly balls to himself, alone in the fading light.

"Just sitting," she said, touching the brim of the hat instinctively.

"Mind some company?"

He sat on the bench beside her, not too close. His name was David. He'd played college ball until an injury, now he worked in software development and came here to hit when he couldn't think straight.

"Lost anyone?" he asked softly, gesturing to the empty field.

"A fish," she said, and something about his presence made her tell him everything—the goldfish Marcus had won her at a carnival, the way its tiny heartbeat had felt bigger than their whole relationship near the end, the burial behind the bicycle rack.

David nodded. "My ex-wife took the dog. I still find dog hair in my car sometimes, two years later. It's like they're haunting you."

The fox had moved closer now, sitting composed as a statue ten feet away.

"You know what they say about goldfish," David said. "Seven-second memory. Imagine that. Every moment brand new, nothing carries forward. Maybe that's not a curse."

Elena looked at the hat in her hands, then at the fox watching them both with knowing eyes. "Maybe I'm ready for some things to be forgotten."

She took off the hat and dropped it in the trash can beside the bench. The fox dipped its head once, then turned and vanished into the tree line.

"Can I walk you home?" David asked.

"Yes," she said, and realized she meant it.