His purchase was two sacks in a triangle and one in a "pick a shape" slot. I bestowed upon him the moniker "Alan", for no apparent or at least remembered reason. He was schlepped about the school grounds for the remainder of the day and tossed in the backseat for the ride home...where he was promptly forgotten about for two days until spotted just shy of having a history book dropped on his little plastic home.
Panic! How had I forgotten? Awe! How was he still alive? It was decided he was a hearty fella worthy of of a better dwelling, and so he was upgraded to a slightly better alternative, a mason jar. I believe he was also served his first proper meal of a crouton shortly after the official move.
Months passed, Alan thrived a top my dresser next to the stereo. I remain convinced he enjoyed the rhythmic vibrations from Wu Tang and Nirvana. I began to notice the visibility was less than ideal for Alan observations due to a lovely green coating that was forming on the jar walls, the shade of green was reminiscent of that one time I learned Midori does not play well with tequila...but that is a different story for another time. I was informed that cleaning one's goldfishy abode is generally a good thing to do at least semi-annually. (Ok, fine, I will admit, I hadn't really expected him to continue living this long. Seriously, 7 months??? For a carny goldfish???)
I decide a survivor of his caliber surely deserved a new crib, not only cleaner, but larger with more viewing space, and a neon sculpture!
Snazzy digs if I do say so myself. Alan seemed pleased with his new space and a mental note was made on my part to schedule a bi-monthly scrubdown of his window to the world.
The promise was kept, and the very next month I did indeed sanitize and defunk his place. ( Let me tell you, catching a goldfish with a spoon is infinitely more difficult than I anticipated, and it turns out mothers are less than thrilled with alternative uses for flatware) After a couple unceremonious flops out of the spoon onto the floor, we made it to his temporary swimming hole...the toilet! (What, can you think of a better place??? Besides, he liked it.) Thus our routine was established, once a month he got to play in the "big bowl" and came home to a sparkling pad.
The machine ran smoothly for almost a year, a net was even added to assist with Alan transportation between bowls.
That is until the day a cleaning agent was added to the mix...in the very mouth of the porcelain god, something about preventing stains or something. Now, let me preface this with the reasoning of "I was 16 and had kept an aquatic creature alive for over 19 months, however in typical teenage fashion, had the attention span of an ADHD sufferer on crack."
(Yes, your honor, the defense now rests.)
I failed to notice the pretty blue water in which Alan was tossed in and allowed to swim for his usual 30 or so minutes. It was usual practice to allow him some free bowl time to stretch his fins. I returned a while later and was horrified (momentarily)...Alan, was sort of green in the scales.
As always, he seemed none the worse for wear, and his new color seemed to suit him, though I did feel a tad bit awful when his left fin disappeared shortly there after.
This was also about the time Alan, grew a sense of humor (replacement for the missing appendage?). He began to play a nifty little game with me, let's call it "Guess Who's (Not) Swimming With The Fishes". The rules were simple, he would wait for me to leave for a while and commence belly up flotation maneuvers.
I would return, see him, become sad, and proceed to the usual fishy burial grounds. Just as funerary ceremonies were about to start, Alan, would joyously swim to life! I would chalk this up to mere coincidence, except this became part of our routine, happening at least three times a month.
Seasons changed, time passed, and once again as is the natural course of teenagedom (dumb?), I got an infatuation, er, boyfriend. At the time, I was utterly convinced it was love and we were going to be together forever, or at least until spring break. We spent hours on the phone, so I was constantly distracted, and of course Cupid's bloody arrow had pierced directly through common sense/intellectual portion
of the brain causing an epidural effect every where but the feel goody regions.
It was time for Alan's semi-weekly (we had progressed a great deal in our cleanliness efforts as you can see) purification. On this day, just as I had removed him from his glass house, lovertoy called. I swear I thought I had completed the transfer , I swear it! Quite sometime later I returned and found I had not. Oh this was not good, I thought I had indeed killed my finned friend. I was pretty sure this was considered homicide.
I made my pathetic apologies, and commended his soul to the deep as he made his final plop into the pooper. But wait! Upon reentry to the water, a twitch! Then, a full body jerk, and a circular movement... Holy Mary,Joseph,
and the camel,he was alive! I offered more mea cuplas and promised to be more careful with his life in the future.
So another year passed, we continued our morbidity guessing games,
adjusted to the fact that his belly would apparently always be green, and a scuba diver and night light were added to his abode to keep him company. On the 15th day of the 11th month of the 4th year of his existence, I found him in his now familiar upward buoyancy drill...I had grown wise to his trickery, no fish would fool me today, and he was left unattended until the next afternoon. He was in the same position the next time I saw him, I was impressed that he was really in character...bravo sir!
I went to bed. The next morning, I was suspect as he appeared not to have moved at all and his flakes remained uneaten and littering his floor. I rocked his bowl a bit and caused a localized tsunami in the hopes of rousing him from his game...nothing. I grabbed his net and poked him for clarification...nothing again. There was a sense of sheer disbelief, I had come to believe he was immortal and indestructible! I thought surely a swim in the big bowl would revive him...Alan? Alan? Alllllllaaaaaaaannnnnnn???? He was really gone!) Alan the Eternal Goldfish was no more. 3 years, 11 months and 17 days after I met him, Alan was laid to rest with a burial at sea(via the sewers and waste treatment plants)
it's what he would have wanted.
And that's the story of how a fish named Alan will remain immortal in my head forever.
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