Three Seconds of Memory

I started running because I couldn't sleep. Not like, actual exercise running — I'm not a cross-country Stacy or whatever. Just running. Out the back door at 2 AM, past the cul-de-sac where Tyler lives (he posted a TikTok with Jessica from AP Chem today, my stomach still hurts), toward the old elementary school. My brain's always on, you know? Like a browser with 47 tabs open, half of them frozen, none of them useful.

So I run. Nikes hitting pavement in a rhythm that drowns out the overthinking. Tonight's different though — tonight's the night Mom finally makes me flush him.

Goldie. My goldfish. The one consistent thing since sixth grade, before everything got weird and people started changing and nobody told me there'd be a social hierarchy restructure every semester.

I'm breathing hard now, chest burning, and suddenly I'm at the old elementary school. The playground is exactly the same, which feels wrong somehow, like something that shaped you should stay frozen while you keep changing. The baby swings look tiny. I used to fly on those things.

Then I see it — the splash pad, still on from whatever summer rec program ran today. Water shooting up in gentle arcs, illuminated by the motion-sensor lights that flicker on when I step closer.

And something in me just snaps. I don't think. I drop my phone on the dry concrete and I'm in the water. Fully clothed, socks soggy, everything. The water's shocking cold, and I'm standing there in the middle of this fountain at 2:15 AM, soaked through and through, and I start laughing. Like actually laughing, the ugly kind where you make sounds you didn't know existed.

They say goldfish have a three-second memory. Goldie never forgot when I came home, though. He'd do that little shimmy dance when I turned on the light. And maybe that's enough. Maybe showing up for the people (and fish) who matter, even when you're exhausted and overwhelmed and feel like everyone's outgrowing you — maybe that's the whole thing.

I'm shivering now. I should go home. Goldie probably already forgot I'm gone anyway.