On Fish

My first goldfish died precisely one week after I brought him home from the arcade where my father had won him for me on our daddy-daughter date.

I was five. I was in love with my fish. He was beautiful, all gold and shiny. I named him Sprinkles. My dad took me out to buy a little fishbowl and some colored rocks and a sign that said Mermaid Crossing.

For six days Sprinkles lived a peaceful life in his new habitat. On the seventh day he started flailing violently and then passed away.

I cried. All. Night. Long. Nothing could console me.

PARENTS: I'm sorry, honey, this is just what happens.

FIVE-YEAR-OLD AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: *cries*

PARENTS: Maybe you can get another fish sometime.

FIVE-YEAR-OLD AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: *cries harder*

PAENTS: We're going to KSL! Won't that be fun?

FIVE-YEAR-OLD AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: *cries a river, a substantial one like the Tigris or the Mississippi*

There's a photo of me and dying Sprinkles. My entire face is blotched red but particularly my eyes look like someone poured a gallon of hydrogen peroxide in them.

KSL was where Dad worked at the time and my parents had planned an exciting tour for me and my sisters. Under normal circumstances I would have loved the tour (as a child, I loved everything except having my hair curled).

Alas, I was still very heartbroken, having witnessed the tragic death of my fish less than an hour ago.

KSL TOUR GUIDE: Here, put on this name tag for me, sweetie, okay? There! Don't you feel happy now?!

FIVE-YEAR-OLD AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: I will never be happy again.

I mean, really. Getting over your first love is hard. Getting over your first fish is hard. Getting over your first love that's also a fish is, like, hard-squared.

Three and a half years later, I had made enough progress that I decided to take a chance on another fish. I won it at a carnival and named it Periwinkle. Older Sister also won a goldfish and named hers Twinkle.

I watched Periwinkle with an anxious heart. At the end of the first week, she was still alive, and this cheered me greatly. She actually lived for some four months before passing away. This was not unexpected, but it hurt. I buried her under the deck in the backyard and used a Mason jar lid and a Sharpie to create a little tombstone for her.

RIP PERIWINKLE

Twinkle died of unknown causes a year later. In a moment of morbidity, Older Sister decided to dissect him for her science fair project.

At the science fair, all the kids in my grade kept shrieking, "I know which project your sister did. Your sister cut open a fish!" SO embarrassing. It was a huge relief when the science fair was over and the remains of Twinkle's remains were safely deposited in the backyard.

RIP TWINKLE

When I got my last goldfish a few years later, I had come to accept that death was just part of a goldfish's life. In fact, I even embraced it. I named my goldfish Van Winkle expressly for the purpose of Sharpieing his grave marker with

RIP VAN WINKLE

If you don't get the joke, you must not be an English major.