The Goldfish at the End of the Line

The bull stood frozen in the middle of Route 9, steam rising from its massive shoulders in the November chill. Marcus killed his headlights, though the iPhone on the passenger seat had already illuminated the scene with its ghostly glow.

"You should've taken the cable car," Sarah had said that morning, not looking up from her coffee. "The bridge is backed up for miles."

She'd been right. She was always right, which was exactly why he'd taken the scenic route. Why he'd needed three hours of windshield time between himself and the foreclosure papers sitting in his glove compartment.

The bull snorted, a sound like tearing canvas, and Marcus found himself laughing—a jagged, exhausted sound. At least the animal wasn't going anywhere. Unlike the startup capital he'd poured into that doomed venture. Unlike his marriage, which had dissolved slowly, like sugar in cold water, leaving only the crystal aftertaste of bitterness.

His phone chimed. Sarah's goldfish—Bubbles, the custody arrangement he'd actually fought for—needed feeding. The fish sat in a bowl on his office desk, its orange scales catching the morning light, its three-second memory either a curse or a blessing, depending on how you looked at it.

He'd told himself he wanted the fish because it was the only living thing that still needed him. But standing there in the dark, watching steam rise from the bull's back like prayers from a temple roof, he knew the truth: he just needed something that forgot.

The bull moved toward the shoulder. Marcus rolled down his window. The air smelled of wet asphalt and coming winter. He thought about calling Sarah, just to hear her voice. But they'd said everything there was to say, hadn't they? Some cables, once cut, couldn't be spliced back together.

He pressed his phone against his forehead, let its cool surface anchor him. Then he started the engine. The bull watched him pass, its dark eyes reflecting his headlights, two small moons in an enormous face. somewhere behind him, a goldfish swam in circles, forgetting everything it learned, every three seconds, forever.

Marcus drove on.