Hank Peterson

The fish swam in circles while I watched and drank wine from a green water bottle. The sun was high and hot, but the fish and I were shaded by the leaves of a large tree.

He was the only fish in the pond. A concrete pit the size of a small car hidden off to the side of the Springer Town Park. He was a brown shadow, weaving silently through the leaves, weeds, and reflections.

I leaned over the railing a little to watch as he passed too near to see normally.

The fish was beautiful, really. The size of my forearm with green and blue flecks in his scales. I wondered if he was a handsome or ugly fish, by fish standards. He swam and swam. Around and around. Alone. It bothered me.

Perhaps this fish has been here for a year. Perhaps he will be here for only one more. He will see no other fish for an entire two years.

No fish jokes to crack with friends.

No fish ladies to eyeball and wink at.

No one at all to bitch about the water temperature or unfortunate murkiness this morning.

Just himself, swimming in circles until he dies. Briefly my brain tried to point out some kind of metaphor, but I pushed it aside. Today was no day for cyphers, or philosophy, or bullshit. No, today was a day for wine. And fish. I took another drink and went back to watching.

Two girls walked up, looked into the pond, at me, and left.

I looked back and the fish had stopped and stuck his head out of the water, facing me.

"I don't mean to be rude," he said, "but do you have anything you could go do for a couple of minutes?"

"Not really. Why?"

"Well, it's just," he coughed up some water, went under for a second and came back up. It's just that I have been swimming around and around, waiting for you to leave, and you just keep staring at me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize it bothered you."

"Well," he said, "It doesn't normally, in fact I like it, but it's just, I have to go, you see, and I can never do it with people looking."

"You mean, like..."

"Yes. Exactly."

"But you're a fish. Could someone even tell from way up here?"

"I don't know, but, honestly, please, just give me a few minutes."

"Okay, I'm sorry." I began to walk away, and then turned back. "Can I come back after?"

He paused, then said; "Sure, I suppose, but you haven't got anything better to do than stare at fish all day?"

"Not really." I took another drink.

The fish dipped down, and came back up. "Okay. I'll let you know when you can come back."

I walked up the path a little and sat on a stone bench. The two girls were sitting across the field talking and smiling. The sun bounced off of their skin and lit through their hair. They were amber and glowing. Youthful and free. I was aging and drunk.

"Okay," said the fish from behind me. "You can come back."

I got up, and walked back to the pond. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you."

I leaned up against the railing. "I'm James."

"Nice to meet you James."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" He asked.

"You have a name?"

"Used to. Not anymore though."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Well, for one thing, I'm a fish."

"Fair enough."

"Also, I'm the only fish here. Names seem kind of unnecessary, I guess."

I smiled. He nodded, dove, and returned.

"What did you mean, 'used to have a name?'"

"I mean, before I was here."

"You aren't from here?"

"Oh, no," he said."Chicago."

"Chicago?"

"Yep."

"Seems like a long way to swim," I said, like an idiot.

"I suppose it would be."

"Also, impossible."

"Yes, also that."

"So, what was your name in Chicago?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"It's probably the wine," I said.

"Probably."

"So...?"

"Hank, actually."

"Hank?"

"Yes sir, Hank Peterson."

"I didn't realize fish were named Hank. Or, had last names."

"They aren't, and they don't."

"Oh. So, how'd you get here. From, Chicago, I mean."

"Don't really know," he said. "Just kind of woke up one day, swimming, and here. Glad I did though. Best thing that ever happened to me."

"Being here?"

"Oh, yes. The water. The solitude. The sunshine. The curious onlookers. The scales."

"The scales?"

"Yep, always wanted them."

"I'm pretty sure you always had them," I said.

"Nope."

"No?"

"Just skin. And hair, and clothes, I guess. You know, normal stuff."

"Wait, what?"

"Sorry, I must have skipped that part." He dove and returned. In Chicago I was human."

I took another drink.

"And, apparently a decent one. I mean, I ended up here, with everything I have ever wanted."

"I'm confused."

"Drunk?"

"Probably that. But, no, it's a little weird to think about. I used to be human, in Chicago, sold shoes."

Wind rustled the leaves above me and cooled my skin. Sun sprayed out over the water, jagged glowing ripples spread around Hank the fish. He bobbed down and came back up again. "So yeah, then I died."

I finished my wine. "How do you know?"

"Know what?"

"That you died?"

"Well, one minute I was driving, then I was going off the road into traffic, then I hit another car, then there was fire, screams, my wife was crying, and now I'm a fish. Seems kind of easy to put together."

"Shit."

"Shit indeed."

We looked at each other for a moment. I wasn't sad for him anymore. I couldn't place why. He stared up at me with blank, black fish eyes. I wondered if he, the talking fish, had been fucking with me.

"I need more wine." I walked away.