The Goldfish in the Pool

The apartment was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional bubble from the goldfish bowl. Sarah stared at the orange fish swimming in tight circles, its mouth opening and closing in silent desperation. She'd bought it on impulse three years ago, when Mark's chemotherapy had first begun.

Now Mark was gone, and she was still here, swimming through days that felt thick as water.

The coaxial cable connecting their television had been severed since the funeral. She hadn't called to restore service. What was the point? The news was all catastrophe anyway, and the sitcoms felt like performances for an audience that no longer existed. She preferred the silence, even when it felt like something bearing down on her chest, heavy and suffocating.

Her phone buzzed. Her sister, again.

"You need to get out," Elena had said yesterday. "Join that swimming club. Remember how much you loved the water?"

Sarah had laughed, hollow and sharp. "I'm not the swimming type anymore."

"You're just grieving. It's been eight months, Sarah."

Eight months since the hospital room. Since Mark had squeezed her hand and whispered something she couldn't hear through his own tears. Since she'd leaned closer, and he'd said, "Don't let me disappear."

The Sphinx riddle wasn't about walks on legs. It was about memory. How do you bear the weight of someone who's gone without disappearing yourself?

She stood up, walked to the window. The city sprawled beneath her, indifferent. A cable car threaded its way across the bay like a dark stitch against the sky.

Her phone buzzed again. This time, she looked.

A message from David, Mark's best friend, whom she hadn't spoken to since the memorial service. "I found something of Mark's. Thought you should see it."

Sarah hesitated, then replied: "Coffee tomorrow?"

The goldfish broke the surface, gasping. She walked over and tapped the glass gently. Tomorrow, she'd feed him properly. Tomorrow, she'd call the cable company. Tomorrow, she'd meet David and hear whatever Mark had left behind.

Tonight, she'd just keep swimming.