What the Goldfish Knew

The bull of a man sat across from me, his neck thick as a tree trunk, his presence suffocating the already cramped office. I'd been calling Roger 'the bull' for years—behind his back, of course. He charged through meetings, destroyed ideas with a flick of his wrist, and everyone just stepped aside. Everyone except me, apparently.

'I need the vitamin supplements transferred to my account,' he said, not asking. 'My wife says I'm not getting enough D.'

I looked at the goldfish bowl on my desk. Barnaby had been with me through three mergers, two heartbreaks, and countless existential Sundays. He swam in circles, oblivious to the corporate machine grinding outside his glass walls. Sometimes I envied him. His memory was said to last only seconds, but at least he didn't remember every mistake, every compromise, every time he'd chosen silence over integrity.

'The vitamins aren't transferable, Roger.'

He leaned forward. 'Everything's transferable if you know who to ask.'

His eyes held that particular gleam—the one that said he knew about me and Thomas from accounting. About the late nights. About the water damage in my apartment from the night I couldn't stop crying. About the antidepressants I'd started taking last month.

Barnaby rose to the surface, mouth opening and closing in silent repetition. A beggar's prayer. A reminder that even in the smallest containment, life demanded nourishment.

'I assigned those vitamins to my mother,' I said. 'She's—'

'Your mother died three years ago, Elena.'

The silence stretched between us like a pulled thread. The goldfish swam on. Outside, rain streaked the windows like tears refused.

'You're right,' I said, standing. 'She did.'

I poured the bottle of vitamin D tablets into my palm. Fifty little promises of light and health and something better than this. One by one, I dropped them into the goldfish bowl.

Barnaby investigated each one with gentle curiosity.

'The bull looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. 'You'll kill him.'

'He's already living in recycled water, eating manufactured flakes, swimming the same circle forever.' I met his gaze. 'What's another little poison?'

Barnaby swam through the falling vitamins like they were snow, like they were manna from a heaven he'd never known. And for the first time in three years, I didn't feel like I was drowning at all.