When I was five years old my goldfish Emril died. Now that I am five and a half I have had time to reflect on my loss. My grief has had time to mature and I can now express my sorrow away from the inevitably expiring heartache.
Emril was truly one of a kind. The way he glided through the water, respecting its flow but not letting it influence his path. The way he perked up for feeding time, grateful, but not pushy. His deep orange scales cascading into gold and silver down his beautifully bulbous body. His gaping mouth was always curved upward with a smile, but he could sense a bad day and would appropriately churn his demeanor to suit my own thus comforting me. I’d like to tell a story representative of Emril’s modus operandi.
One day I came home from school in a foul mood. Judy had borrowed my favorite pencil and though I patiently waited the entire day for her to do the right thing and return it with a thank you note, my moment never arrived nor the pencil along with it. I seethed during the commute home. My bus friends wanted to play with their new paper fortune teller, but I refused. However enticing it may have been, commiting to my anger was something I knew I had to do. I arrived home and forewent my after school snack. This was especially difficult because my mother made pink cupcakes. Not only was the frosting pink, but the underlying cake. I could hold out until after dinner. All I wanted to do was get to my room and be with Emril. I stomped up the stairs flashing my mother a pout instead of a scowl to let her know my fued was not familial. I entered my chambers and sat next to Emril. He wiggled to the northern curve of the bowl next to me. I told him about my day as he paced in circles. The catharsis made me tired and I prepared for a nap. I wanted to thank Emril for being such a good listener so I gave him a few extra taps of food. I shut the lights and before long I was whisked away by the sandwoman to candylands with unlimited pink cupcakes and pink pencils that never needed to be sharpened. Judy was tied up within a palisade of pencils to be tried for her crimes. Naturally I let her go, but with the parting punishment of an erasable pen she would be forced to use for the rest of her days. When I arose, I felt calmed and forgiveness flowed through me. I had forgotten about Judy and her carelessness and was ready to enjoy my weekend. One last thank you to Emril then I was off to give my mother a proper hello. It was dark, but something in Emril’s tank looked wrong. A dark figure was still, floating on the surface. I turned on the lights, raced to the tank and screamed. “My goodness Emril what happened? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Emril! Emril?” Both parents met me upstairs to discover why I shrieked. At first they were forlorn. Then my father stepped towards me and the bowl and said “Emril is a fighter, he’ll pull through. We just need to send him to the fish doctor.” “Where is the fish doctor daddy? We have to go!” He nodded and told me to follow him. We went to the bathroom, Emril’s home in my father’s hands, his life in that of the fishician’s. Daddy told me to wish Emril luck. I kissed the northern side of the bowl, his favorite, and whispered “Get better Emril, I love you.” and stepped away. Then father did something drastic. He poured Emril down the toilet bowl. I screamed again. “Don’t worry honey, he’ll be back as soon as the doctor takes care of him.” Saturday I stirred. Sunday I wept. Monday I did something I regretted. I confronted Judy about her criminal escapade and it got physical. Due to a fearful concern of this encounter affecting future employment, that is all I wish to say on the matter. There were no developments in Emril’s well being until Wednesday. Father came home from work and had Emril with him! He was in a bag, I guess the hospital ran out of bowls, or at least that’s what Daddy says. We put him back in his home and I heard all about his stay. The doctor was kind and gentle, the nurses were attentive, and everyone told him how lucky he was to survive my overfeeding. I apologized about a million times, even though he forgave me after the first. I proceeded to tell him about what happened with Judy and we concluded that I was wrong and needed to properly atone. Emril said “I know you. I know you would never hurt even your most hated enemy. Judy did a bad thing to you and I know you only acted out because you were worried about me. But even if the worst did happen to me and I went away forever, I would want you to go on being your sweet self. Please remember, the best way to remember me is to be the best you, you can be.” On Thursday I rectified and repented with Judy and we scheduled a play date the following Friday.
Emril and I had another four months together after that scare and they were some of the happiest times in my life. He fell ill once more and the doctors told us there was nothing they could do, it was simply his time. I wasn’t the same for weeks. I couldn’t pretend to be happy. But, I remembered Emril’s words and in honor of him and his legacy I strive to be a better person than the one I was yesterday. I love you Emril.
Until we meet again,
Suzie
