The Summer I Almost Lost Everything To A Fox

The hat was supposed to be my whole personality now. Wide-brimmed, vintage vibes, perfectly tilted. I'd spent three weeks practicing the tilt in my bathroom mirror. This was going to be the summer I became someone artistic. Someone with depth. Someone who didn't care what people thought, even though I cared SO MUCH what people thought.

"Housesitting for my aunt," I posted, captioning a photo of myself in the hat, looking thoughtfully at her garden. "Finding myself out here."

In reality, I was mostly responsible for keeping her goldfish alive. A spectacular orange thing named General Fin, who swam in endless circles in his fancy tank on the sun porch. I'd Googled "how to look after expensive fish" and learned they basically just needed you to not kill them. Easy.

I sat on the back porch, hat on, scrolling through my carefully curated feed. Authenticity vibes only.

That's when the fox appeared.

It trotted out of the woods like it owned the place, all red fur and quiet confidence. It stopped at the edge of the porch and stared at me. At first I thought it was checking me out. Then I realized — it was checking out General Fin through the glass door.

"Nope," I said, standing up too fast. My hat fell off.

The fox didn't even flinch. It just sat there, tail twitching, like it was waiting for something. Like it knew I was pretending.

I grabbed the first thing I could find — my aunt's decorative shovel — and brandished it like a weapon. The fox tilted its head, almost like it was amused, then slowly turned and walked back into the woods.

That's when I noticed the back door was slightly ajar. I'd forgotten to lock it after letting the dog out. The fox could've gotten in. General Fin could've been breakfast.

My hands were shaking. I sank onto the porch steps, hatless, and watched the goldfish swim its endless circles. Something about seeing it just... existing. Not trying to be anything. Not practicing its angles or worrying about being enough. Just swimming.

I called my best friend. "Hey, so I kind of almost let a fox eat a fish today."

"What?"

"It's a long story. But I think I'm done with the hat thing."

"Thank GOD," she said. "That thing was giving major pick-me energy."

I laughed. Like, actually laughed. Not the cool-chill laugh I'd been practicing.

General Fin swam on. The fox was gone. And I was just me, sitting on a porch, finally maybe getting around to meeting myself.