oh my angel.

I had a goldfish at this time in my life, my early 20’s, I’d named him Red. Or perhaps her, I’d never bothered to figure out how to check the gender of a goldfish— but Red sort of seemed of the boyish variety. He was doing the sort of thing he normally did in his tank, floating around. I watched him for a moment, “Red, what’s the matter with me do you think?”.

He didn’t say much of anything, so I continued on. 

“You’re supposed to be comforting, right? That’s why I bought you from the pet store. You’re a comfort animal, right?”

Actually I’d bought Red because he was just about the last gold fish left in the little cups at the shop. There were two others but they were faring quite poorly, just about dead in their little plastic cups. Their fins were a sickly shade of gray and it looked like they weren’t breathing correctly, by the way they weren’t breathing at all. Maybe it was some kind of charity on my part, but I’d felt like I needed to save Red, or at least give him a better shot at life… or something. I’d had him for a year and he never seemed to care one way or another about being saved or about my conversations but I talked to him anyway.

Little beads of sweat peaked out from under my red Angels cap and I questioned to myself whether I should sit with Red or have a cigarette or perhaps both at once. This was my year of solitude, or so I was calling it. It had been 11 months since I’d been with a man, or a woman for that matter. I suppose it was beginning to wear on me, though at the same time I was falling into liking it. Things were simple this way. There were no feelings to consider, little responsibility, and a complete absence of trifling about my appearance. It was me and Red and that was better than enough— I’d had it with people for good. 

I pulled a tiny black lighter out of my jacket pocket. It was cute, small, and one of those types of plastic lighters that might work for a few weeks at best. I checked my other pocket but it seemed to be completely void of a cigarette box. I checked the desk drawer too— empty. 

“Oh man, Red. I guess I’m gonna have to head to the grocery. We’re clean out of smokes.”

Red wasn’t a smoker, but I thought he might like to partake if he could breath in air instead of water. I always left a cigarette by the fish bowl for him so he could feel included. A cigarette rested there now, but it seemed wrong to greedily snatch it away. Better to go get some more of my own, I thought, than to tarnish our friendship. 

Every time I left the house I worried Red might get lonely. Sometimes I’d put on a CD if I knew I’d be gone for a while. His favorite was a Faye Wong album, something nice to swim to. There wasn’t much company around, and besides, I didn’t even have a television for him to watch. I buttoned up my denim jacket and pushed my Angels cap down on my forehead. 

I spent a while browsing the peanut butter- there were a dreadful amount of options of course. Instinctively I looked up, and there, in a pool of pale florescent beauty was perhaps the most striking lady I’d ever seen. 

She was dressed in cool black heels, a simple floral skirt, and a dark crimson top that was tailored to cradle her sharp form. We made eye contact for a moment, her cool brown eyes kissing that air that separated us. She was an unusually alluring sort of beauty, like one might see in a runway show of an avant garde designer. It seemed a mistake to see her here and not in Paris. Then she walked away. I felt my cheeks burning. 

The cashier was a younger, college aged woman, with a big silver nose ring and plenty of hand tattoos. Right in front of me stood the girl I’d seen earlier, with her dazzling air of truth. She looked up at me again, perhaps sensing my eyes on her. We made eye contact for a moment, yet strangely neither of us looked away. She failed to size me up, or guess some intention, or to read my face— this much I could feel. Instead she just looked straight into me, guessing much more. I wish I had been so smart, so astute to do the same. I never knew such a skill as hers existed until that moment, and never knew how severely lacking in proficiency I was. Her fixed eyes were cool brown pools like the storms of Saturn. I tried to open my mouth but found I couldn’t. Every breath felt like cold concrete entering my lungs. I wished so badly to call out just a few meters away to say something, but what? Only a few feet of grocery store separated us, but between us was a thousand mile rift in my head. Whatever connection we’d just experienced was obliterated as she went to the register to pay, handing an exceedingly average looking credit card to the nose ringed cashier. 

I was lost in myself suddenly. Lost at the idea of being alone. Realizing how foolish that idea was. What a stupid concept. What a horrible proposition I’d resigned myself to. Where was the glamour and the ritz of solitude? In fact there was none. But now the girl with the stormy brown eyes, she was gone. The automatic door slid shut behind her, and I was hurrying to pay for my peanut better. It seemed so unimportant, I barely heard what the nose ring said to me. The hand tattoos were talking about some change for my twenty dollar bill, but I didn’t care. I left without a bag, almost forgetting the peanut butter entirely.

I realized I must say something to that girl with the Saturn eyes. She’d seen me, but I needed her to know that I’d seen her too. Really seen her, at least for a fleeting moment. So I was walking briskly to the door and flying away into an empty parking lot. The sky was black as coffee, drizzling with a subtle rain that offered no comfort. I found myself alone, amidst a small smattering of cars. I traced back and forth with my pupils through the few rows of spaces, dimly lit by a wavering streetlight. She was entirely gone, like she’d scarcely existed at all. There was no girl left in the parking lot. There were no Saturn storm eyes. My Angels hat slowly grew wet with rain, each drop sagging it further down my forehead.

I looked for a long time, in that deserted parking lot. A few cars came and went, until there was just one left under the faint light. Finally, the nose ring was locking the front door and telling me I’d better leave. I walked home, meandering towards Red and our dusty apartment on 4th street. The night seemed cold but alive somehow. I fiddled with my lighter as I rounded the corner to the iron gated door of my apartment building. It was old and dirty, but full of promise like a tattered boot.

Red was inside his bowl, not doing much of anything. I reached in my pocket for a cigarette and found I still didn’t have any. Gingerly, I picked up the one next to Red’s bowl and lit it for myself, listening to Faye Wong sing us softly through the night.