The Fish

There was an art show in the park. A few white tents lined up on either side of the stone path. Paintings and crafts depicting horses, jockeys, and other tourist trap garbage. Michael and I passed the wine back and forth, making fun of the "art" and the "artists" just loud enough so they'd hear us. They deserved to be mocked. They were all that was wrong with Springer. Using their talents and abilities to whore themselves out, all the while claiming to be artists, starving for the cause. They sell their identical paintings for hundreds of dollars, with the pretentious sweep of a signature at the bottom, as if it meant anything at all in the midst of all of the other trash around them. One fucking horse painting? Fine. One artists doing a series? If they have to. Every so-called fucking artist in the city painting the same goddamned thing? This was bullshit, and these were not artists. They were hacks. Sell-outs. Cunts of the lowest caliber. The punk rock in me boiled up to the surface.

It must have been nearing the end of the show, because some of the tents were packing up. A lady was putting away a case of handmade stone jewelry. A man in a tent next to her packed up birdhouses. These were the most original things displayed.

"I hate this town," Michael said.

"You should move then."

"I don't really hate it. I just hate horses."

"Me too."

We walked along the path to a lesser visited section of the park, surrounded in tall dick shaped pine trees twenty feet high. They were planted in a circle, outlining a small fountain and four statues. Two of a Pan creature, and two of some generic topless female crying, or moaning or some other emotion meant to be intriguing and exciting, I'm sure.

"The Pans are odd. Why are they here? Is it a garden, midsummer's night dream thing?" I asked.

"Fuck if I know."

I walked around in a circle. Pan, woman, pan, woman. I couldn't figure it out. Mist from the small fountain cooled me as I walked around it. Michael sat on a stone bench and nursed the water bottle.

"Almost time to refill," he said.

I walked over, took the bottle, finished it and unscrewed the top. I handed it over and dug around in my bag for the wine bottle. While I poured, he held it still and screwed the top on afterward.

The bottle was empty now.

"What do we do with the bottle?" I asked.

"Give it to me."

I did, and he threw it into the bushes. "Solved," he said.

We passed the bottle back and forth a couple of times, staring at the uncertain statues, and walked the path out of the garden. We followed a stream that ran the southern end of the park, filled with mud and frogs and plants unidentifiable. My head swam. The wine was letting me know it was there. I welcomed it. No, that isn't right, I was downright relieved. Quitting my job and having to face the very real possibility of taking another that I absolutely didn't want was a very troublesome thing. It weighed on me. It stuck in my teeth. It was a hole in my chest. Perhaps I was over-reacting, but certainly, I needed that fucking wine.

We walked along the stream, not talking. Both of us in our own worlds. Michael's parents weren't doing well, and despite his twenty-four years, he was having a hard time with it. Most people would try to talk him into happiness. They would be wrong though. What the man needed was time to think it out, and someone nearby just in case. I worried about him.

The sun got hotter, and the "artists" had all left as we meandered. Now, the park was only populated by people like us. People looking to kill a little time, to relax in the sun, to be happy for a few moments.

"I tried heroin," he said.

"Why?"

"I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't know what it was until they told me."

"They who?"

"My friend Ted and his cousin. They just gave me this little pill and told me to take it, so I did."

"You're a fucking idiot," I said.

"I know."

We walked on, until we came to a small concrete circle, about ten feet deep. It was filled with water and weeds, and was surrounded by a steel railing. We stopped and looked into it, passing the bottle back and forth, back and forth.

"Used to be a fish pond," he said.

"I only see one in there."

Michael looked in. "Yeah, looks like just one."

I stared at it. The one fish. The lone brown creature, swimming in endless circles. A part of me was sad for him. How long had he been here? From birth? Fish-childhood? Would he die here? Were there plans to put more fish in? How long would this fish know only solitude, and the same ten foot concrete pond? Could fish be miserable? Look up toward the surface and wish? Could fish long?

"What if this is his afterlife?" I asked.

"What?"

"What if this is his heaven, or hell, I suppose."

"Who's?"

"The fish. I mean, I saw a video online once of a goat at a farm that sounded like he was saying 'help', and was trying to get some girl's attention. What if that goat had once been human, and something happened to him? Some fluke of reality, as an afterlife surely would be? What if that goat had been a man, an evil, or a mistakenly evil man and that was his punishment, to live life as a goat?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I don't know." I watched the fish a little while longer, and in my head as we left, said my good byes and good wishes to him. I hoped it was his heaven.

We walked across the park. A girl, young, brunette, slim, came walking in our direction.

"Michael?" She asked from a distance.

"Hey," he answered.

"I tried to call you." As she came closer I noticed she looked Greek.

"Phone died."

"Oh."

"Nadine, this is James."

"Hi," I said.

"Hi James. I've heard a little about you."

"Okay."

"So what are you boys up to?" She asked us.

"Drinking and walking," Michael said.

"Cool. Can I join you?"

We were almost out of wine. I finished it, and put it in my bag. "We're out of wine."

"Oh," she said.

My head was floating. My skin tingled. My heart had sunk. Michael was smiling for the first time all day. I decided to leave him to his lady.

"I'm going to go home," I said.

"Okay, why?"

"I still have some shit I have to do today."

"Okay. Well, see you later man."

"Bye. It was nice meeting you Nadine."

"You too."

We all waved as I walked out of the park.

I hoped the fish was okay.