What Lingers at the Pool

The apartment complex pool was empty at 11 PM, the water still and black beneath the security lights. Sarah sat on the edge, legs dangling in the chlorinated water, watching Mark pace the concrete deck.

'You're doing it again,' she said quietly. 'That thing where you work yourself up until you can't breathe.'

Mark stopped pacing. 'My mother's goldfish lived for seven years. Seven years in that bowl on her kitchen counter, swimming the same circle, same distorted view of the room.' He took a breath. 'I feel like that fish sometimes. Like I'm swimming in circles and I don't even know it.'

Sarah pulled her legs from the water and wrapped herself in her towel. The spinach salad they'd eaten for dinner sat heavy in her stomach, healthy and uninspiring—much like their relationship lately.

'This isn't about the fish,' she said, standing up. The water dripped from her skin, dark spots on the pale concrete. 'This is about the job offer. This is about you being scared to leave.'

Mark's face crumpled. 'What if I fail? What if we fail?' He looked at the pool, its dark surface reflecting his uncertainty. 'At least here, we know what we're getting.'

Sarah stepped closer, close enough that she could see the tiny piece of spinach still caught between his teeth from dinner. She'd been waiting all evening to tell him, and now seemed as good a moment as any. The pool lights flickered, casting them both in harsh relief.

'The offer came through,' she said. 'I'm moving to Portland. With or without you.'

Mark's mouth opened slightly. The spinach fell away. Behind him, the pool's surface rippled in the sudden wind, distorting the reflection of a man who'd been swimming in circles for too long, finally presented with an impossible choice: stay in the bowl he knew, or jump into water he couldn't see the bottom of.

The goldfish had never had a choice. Mark did. And that was almost worse.