At 10 pm, Julia switches off the bright light in the living room, like clockwork.
She taps the dim light fixture on the tank enclosure, softly illuminating the darkness, like clockwork.
I watch her hips sway.
Seconds later, the bedroom door closes and it is my time to shine.
I wriggle out of the tiny rock enclosure. Six months have passed since this became my exclusive space. The others readily relinquished it.They knew better than to share the rock bed with someone who cleaned up after them.
I waddled through the water, the currents parting behind me. Tonight, it was time to tend to the oxygen machine. Algae had begun to creep around its cylindrical body in the last few hours.
Left unclean, this would soon camouflage the machine against the forest backdrop of the tank. Given a few more days, it would block the spout that released oxygen into the water.
Julia had not learned better, not since she lost two goldfish to negligence. On the day she introduced me into the tank, she whispered against the glass, “You are here to make sure that never happens again.”
So here I was, doing exactly that.
George delivered his usual pitch to Julia the day she stopped by our home in the store.
“This is the perfect fish to own. Although not very good to look at… a squeamish brown with yellow spots… wide head… flat bottom…”, he swayed with an amused look on his face.
"But!”, he pretended to interrupt himself. He would emphasize on but like our appearance was bad news.
“Plecos do the high-maintenance work of cleaning. It is their natural hobby. And they are low maintenance to own. It is a no-brainer to have one”.
People rarely stopped by our tank to look at us. We were usually sold as an afterthought, an add-on, bundled with fish food and the seasonal collection of aquarium pebbles.
The last time we were an intentional purchase was when Petra was taken away. She went to live in the lobby of a ridiculously tall building. Petra did her part in keeping the tank clean, she did it really well. Impressed, they brought in my cousin Fred to share the labor in a larger, replacement aquarium a couple of weeks later.
Petra told Fred about the people-carrying wall machine that counted up to seventy-eight before ringing out a loud ding. She told him about how she yearned to be carried in it, to rise and fall as the people did. Entranced, they spent a few minutes every evening watching people go in and out of the machine.
A few days into Fred's new placement, the owners switched the tank back to the original, small-sized one. Fred was returned to the store along with the large castle and tree decoration sets that were initially sent with him. The smartly dressed man that brought him back argued with George until he was handed an itemized receipt for someone called corpret.
Fred repeated the tale to us for weeks. It was one of those rare occasions when someone returned to share their story and it was our only chance to learn about life beyond the shop.
So when Julia paused in front of our tank, looking directly at me, I was pleasantly surprised. She was curious, and moments after George’s pitch, she was comfortably sold on the idea to carry me home. I was the only item rung up at the till that day. She looked at me unprompted, purchased me with little hesitation. I was optimistic about my new home.
But my body stopped growing once I moved into Julia’s tank. The tank at the store was so much larger, but George would typically skip the brief on what we needed to thrive. Julia’s fish were not very friendly either. I missed Lucia, Cherry, and Flora every day since leaving George’s shop.
We all knew what we were destined for when purchased alongside other fish and excessive tank decor.
Lately, I've felt a growing pain in my belly and it has begun to slow me down. I sensed that I am resigned to a fate that is not too pleasant. All I can do is make the most of the time that I have.
There was no strength in complaining. Each night, I did my work and politely parroted the occasional "don’t mind me" if I happened to bump into another fish.
I move across the length of the oxygen machine a few times until it is restored to its original look. I sweep the floor of pebbles nearby, suck on the tiny shiny rocks, and clear the debris that peeled off the machine. There is not much else to do tonight.
I resume my routine: sticking to the back walls, gradually swimming across the glass to clear the surface and restore its shine.
In a matter of hours, light from the front window brings the living room back to life. The birds begin their morning routine of soft singing, and it is my time to rest. I hurry back into the enclosure and flip onto my back to rest. My belly feels heavier than usual and the pain continues to grow inside me.
I resist it for a few minutes before succumbing to sleep.
In what feels like only a few minutes, I am awoken by a sudden jolt. I flip around and rush out of the enclosure before the tank jolts again.
Kimbo, one of the larger sharks, had begun bumping his head against the walls. The goldfish gather around him, encouraging him to stop. This only seemed to worsen the situation. Kimbo bumps his head against the tank wall with greater force. A classic sign of stress.
Julia picked up on the noise soon after. She hurries to the tank, swiping her hand against the glass, occasionally tapping to break Kimbos' rhythm. He continues to hurl backward again and again, slamming high head with full force. Julia looked at me with a plea in her eyes, as if this were something I could fix.
I looked around to assess the water, it was as clean as I left it. I did not know how else to help. I scan the tank again in case I missed something.
The next moment, I felt a heavy weight pin down my body. The oxygen machine had fallen over. I desperately look back at Julia, but she remained focused on Kimbos’ rampage.
I let out a grunt to draw the attention of the other fish, but I was as invisible as on any other day in the tank.
The knot in my belly tightened under the pressure of the machine. I gasped for air.
It was day time again. The windows were wide open. The light in my eyes start to dim, everything around me fading into a haze. My old home from George’s shop flashes in front of my eyes. I feel the need to swim right back into it, but it disappears a few seconds after.
It was time. A prescribed destiny, a job fulfilled. My heart slowed to a gradual beat, and I began to count to 78. I imagined what it would have felt like inside that machine. In my mind, I was weightless, I was free.
At the mark of 60, my eyes met with Julia’s. She shrugged and pursed her lips. I watched her hips sway away from the tank. Kimbos' bumping seemed to have stopped. All the other fish scattered. The oxygen machine lay collapsed, releasing bubbles onto the aquarium floor. The tank clouded to a murky grey. The gentle tug of the current ceased.
My last breath hitched. I let out my final gasp in the clean water.