Two Little Goldfish

Two Little Goldfish

We brought the two little goldfish home from W.T. Grant’s Department Store in a small cardboard box coated with something waxy. The box had a slim metal handle that dug into my palm after a few blocks so Mary and I traded off carrying the thing every couple of blocks. We had pooled out tiny allowances and my babysitting money, which meant that I had by far the larger investment. But, seeing that we had spent all our money on the fish, the salesman threw in a box of goldfish food in the price of the fish.

When we got home, Mama transferred the two fish to a giant pickle jar that she had filled with tap water before we started out for Grant’s. “We have to let the water sit for awhile to let the chlorine escape,” she told us. “The chlorine isn’t good for the fish.” I didn’t think to ask why chlorine was OK for humans.

After she dropped the fish into our jar of de-chlorinated water, they swam around and around in the clear, translucent water. We were mesmerized. Even though Daddy was a commercial fisherman, I don’t think we’d ever seen a live fish eyeball to eyeball before.

Mama opened the box of fish food—about the size of a deck of cards, and showed us the thin sheets of fish food. “Just a tiny corner of a sheet each day,” she said. “That’s enough to give them at one time.”

The next morning, the water in the fish jar was murky and cloudy, and the two fish floated sideways, still, at the top.

Mary cried. “I just thought the fishies were hungry,” she said, “so I gave them a whole sheet.”