A Collection of Found Objects

When I was younger my grandma would instruct me on how to feed koi properly. I am too small to approach the edge of the pond but dozens of fish are swarming, mouths gaping out of the water. Grandma is throwing in dry dog food, pointing out various different fish telling me their stories. Her garden is an assortment of vegetables and plants that she either transplanted or ate once – “found” objects whose beauty are in their functionality.  “That one is the oldest. See? It almost got carried away by a bird once.” Later, my father would take my sister and I to the pet store to look at the fish. He would take turns holding up each of us, while we solemnly stared at the individually sectioned off species of fish. Together the three of us would stare at the wall of glowing tanks. Eventually we got our own tank. We would make up stories about each fish and would carefully select each plant to provide the proper coverage and environment. The three of us would feed the tank together before dinner, carefully crowded around the tank to watch. Swarming in jewel tones, the fish would crowd towards the surface, bubbles floating toward the surface.  It wasn’t until after my grandmother died that my sister got a goldfish. She put it in a “special” tank that had the best reviews from some niche website. My dad drove to our college dorm where we filled up mugs of water from the communal sink to be purified in the tank, pre-fish. I am holding the plastic bag, where the goldfish aimlessly swims.  Flat in my hand, the bag is squishy and firm, the fish a small silver flicker. As my father and sister watch the water purifying tablet dissolve,  it darts about, swimming in-between the space of my fingers. Somewhere out there, my grandmother, father, and sister all tend to their fish. It is a link that ties us to the past but also moves us forward into the future.