The Goldfish Bowl

The orange sat on her desk, peeled but forgotten, its segments drying in the afternoon sun. Elena hadn't touched it since David left three hours ago.

"I need to find myself," he'd said, running his hand through his thinning hair—a nervous tic she'd once found endearing, now pathetic. Forty years old and still searching.

She looked at the goldfish bowl on the windowsill. Bernard, a hardy fantail she'd rescued from a carnival prize gone wrong, swam his endless circles. His orange scales caught the light, flashes of brilliance in the dim apartment.

David had wanted to flush Bernard months ago. "It's just a fish, El. It doesn't feel anything."

But Bernard had outlasted him.

The doorbell rang. Her sister, Sarah, breathless from the stairs. "I came as soon as you called. You okay?"

Elena gestured to the orange. "Symbolic, isn't it?"

"You haven't eaten."

"I ate his excuses for six years. I'm full."

Sarah sat on the windowsill, watching Bernard. "Remember when you won him? That carnival where you met David?"

"Romantic then. Tragic now."

"You going to be okay?"

Elena thought about the question. Really thought about it—the hollow apartment, the bed that suddenly felt too large, the absence that was somehow louder than presence.

"I bought the good wine," she said finally. "The one we could never afford because he was 'investing in his dreams.'"

Sarah laughed. "So that's a yes."

Elena picked up a segment of the orange, burst it in her mouth. Tart, bright, alive. She watched Bernard swim, undamaged by the turbulence of the glass, suspended in his own private ocean.

"You know what's funny?" Elena said. "David left his fish food on the counter. Like he's coming back."

"Are you going to feed him?"

"Bernard? No. David either."

The sisters sat together as the sun dipped, the room bleeding into shadows. Somewhere in the building, a neighbor played jazz—smoky, melancholic, perfect. Elena fed Bernard anyway, watching him rise to the surface, mouth opening and closing like a tiny, hungry heart.

Some things you kept feeding. Some you let starve. The trick was knowing which was which.