2007-05-15
stella was a diver
She ignores her freeze-dried pellets. They sink to the bottom of her bowl and slip under the rocks. Days later, I find them dusted with fuzz. I suck them out with a turkey baster and dump the dirty water in Mama's African violet.
I tried all the usual tricks: kosher salt, a teaspoon of Coppersafe...but I can't figure out a cure. Too bad I can't call a fish doctor.
Stella lurches across her bowl as if jacked on speed. Then she tumbles in circles and lies twisted at the bottom, her gills pumping in 4/4 time. Parasites or fluke worms? I bought her with my own money at Petsmart years ago. Her fins still blush pale pink at the edges, her scales speckled like sesame seeds.
I pour her into a smaller home: a takeout container for wonton soup. Now she bobs at the surface like a cork. Her eyes follow me around the room. I wiggle my fingers at her face. She blinks. I want to tell her, "Everything's okay." But she can't hear me.
Bettas don't have ears.
f-i-n at 10:43 a.m.