What the Goldfish Forgot

The padel court echoed with the sharp crack of racquet against ball, each shot more aggressive than the last. Marcus played like a man fighting for his life, though David knew better. Marcus was fighting for his marriage, his dignity, the illusion that forty didn't mean what it clearly meant.

"You're losing your hair, Marcus," David had said over drinks last week, "not your mind. Though both are debatable at this point."

The banter had been friendly then. Now, sweat dripped from Marcus's receding hairline as he smashed a winner into the corner. He'd confided in David about Sarah — how she'd stopped looking at him the way she used to, how she'd bought a goldfish last month and named it Marcus, "because it just swims in circles all day, never really getting anywhere."

David hadn't known whether to laugh or apologize.

"She says she wants passion," Marcus panted between points. "She says I'm just going through motions. Like this game. Like everything."

David's dog, Buster, lay sprawled on the sidelines, occasionally lifting his head at the sound of the ball. The old golden retriever had been David's companion through divorce, dead-end jobs, and three years of therapy. Sometimes David thought the dog understood more about happiness than any human he'd ever met.

"Maybe it's not about passion," David said, serving. "Maybe it's about showing up."

"Easy for you to say. You've got Buster. You've got this. What do I have?"

The ball sailed long.

"You have a choice, Marcus. Either play the game or walk away. But stop pretending you're playing when you're actually just waiting for it to end."

They finished in silence. As they gathered their gear, Marcus's phone buzzed. Sarah's goldfish was floating at the top of its bowl. She was crying, asking him to come home.

Marcus looked at David, something like recognition in his eyes. "Maybe it's not too late."

"Maybe," David said. "But not if you keep swimming in circles."

As Marcus drove away, Buster stood and stretched, then settled his head on David's knee. David scratched the dog's ears, watching the empty court, thinking about how sometimes the things that keep us alive are the ones we forget to thank.