What the Goldfish Knows

The goldfish circled his bowl, three more laps before he'd forget he'd already passed that plastic castle. Sarah watched him through the glass of wine she'd been nursing for two hours. His name was Barry, and he was the only one left.

Her iPhone buzzed against the coffee table — another Slack notification from the bull in the corner office, demanding something that couldn't wait until Monday. She let it screen dark, unread, like she had the last seven messages.

"You're going to turn into your mother," Marcus had said, his voice thick with the particular cruelty only someone who's loved you can deliver. "Forty years old and still letting work run your life while everything real just... circles the bowl."

He'd left his keys. He'd left his half-empty conditioner in the shower. But he'd taken the cat.

Barnaby had been Marcus's anyway, a standoffish tabby who'd tolerated Sarah for three years before deciding she wasn't worth the effort. The morning after Marcus left, Sarah had found Barnaby sitting by the door, waiting. She'd opened it, and he'd walked out without looking back. Cats know things before you do.

The wine was sour. She should have thrown it out months ago, along with the sweater still shedding his hair into her laundry basket, along with the toothbrush holder with its gap, along with everything that made this apartment feel like a crime scene.

Her phone lit up again. Not Slack this time — a calendar reminder: "Dinner with Marcus, 8 PM." She'd forgotten to delete the recurring invite. The system was more faithful than either of them had been.

Barry the goldfish did another lap. Sarah wondered if it was a mercy, that seven-second memory. If you couldn't remember the castle was plastic, you could still be surprised by it. You could still find wonder in the same circuit, over and over.

She poured the wine down the sink and watched it spiral away.

The iPhone buzzed again. This time she picked it up, deleted the calendar invite, and opened the Slack app. The bull wanted a report by Tuesday. She'd give him a report. She'd give him something measured and precise and entirely hollow.

Barry passed the castle again, tail flickering, utterly present in a moment he'd never remember.

Sarah went to find a box. Time to pack up the last of what remained.