Stevie

The first semester at college, I purchased a small, black spotted goldfish to keep me company through the long nights of strenuous studying and homework. I got him as a friend and a companion to stave off the loneliness that often seeps under windowsills during a sustained absence, and he did a damn fine job.

I knew he was a bit sickly when he would swim on his side around his tiny tank, but I never thought much of it. Some days he would be floating motionless on the top of the tank, but with a slight rap of my knuckles on the acrylic, he would spring back to life, wagging his tail playfully. He had problems controlling his air bladder, so he often couldn’t control his ascent or decent in the tank, and seeing him there every morning made me realize that, if Stevie could make it in this world, then I certainly could.

As time went on, I gained many friends and didn’t really need the company of a fish to keep me going, so at the beginning of my second year, I chose to leave Stevie at home with my brother. I thought it was best if Jacob took care of him: He would have a much bigger tank and many more friends. With his responsibilities off my shoulders, I promptly forgot about him—the lessons he taught me and the black loneliness we fought off together.

It wasn’t until my mom told me that, unless I took Stevie with me, he would die. My brother was at college, and my parents were going to The Netherlands, so there would be no one to feed him for a month or more. I remembered all the good times we had, so I told her that I would be glad to take him. After a bumpy car ride back to school, Stevie was still hanging in there, but when I went to plug in his tank, he was laying motionless on the bottom of the tank.

I was sad for Stevie, after all, he was a good friend and a real trooper, but it wasn’t until I realized that the way I cared for Stevie was the same exact way I cared for any relationship that I began to feel the tears flowing. From friends to lovers, I always start out strong, spending lots of time with a person and really building the relationship. I even keep the relationships that are a bit quirky. But after the initial thrill of a new relationship fades away, I leave the relationship alone—not forgetting about it, but just letting someone else care for it. I walk away from someone with full arms and I don’t look back until they have all but dropped it. Of course, at that point it is already too late, but I frivolously try to mend things and make them back to the way they once were, piecing the shattered pieces together in an awkward mosaic that has the semblance of a normal relationship. They never do, however, and it is for that reason that I want to thank Stevie for the lessons taught, in life and in death. Godspeed, you kind soul, and may our paths again cross. Amen.