Hive Ave Fall2024 - Flipbook - Page 33
Hive Avenue Literary Journal
To Name a Fish
Brandon Yu
You don’t name a 昀椀sh.
Not so with other pets. Dogs go by Rex, Fido, or Max.
Cats go by Luna, Leo, or Lily. But what do 昀椀sh go by?
This question never became more apparent when I
bought 昀椀sh of my own. When I moved into my apartment for
the 昀椀rst time, I decided I needed to take care of something. Fish
were easy, but my decision to buy them wasn’t.
My track record with aquatic creatures has been terrible. I am to 昀椀sh what many people are to their houseplants: an
inadvertent doomslayer. No matter what I do, they simply die
around me.
I had good reason to feel this way. My 昀椀rst 昀椀sh was a
navy-blue betta. I found him in the back of the petstore, hunkered in the aquatic equivalent of a solitary con昀椀nement cell.
Like all betta 昀椀sh, he was in there for assault and battery.
I was a child, and I took pity on him. I posted his bail using
my own birthday money, saving him from a potential court date.
I brought him home in a plastic 昀椀shbowl, an innocent smile on
my face. I was determined to do right by him. I cleaned his bowl.
I fed him twice a day. In spite of everything I did, he died next
year, which sounds almost okay until you realize I bought him
on December 30th.
Knowing you’re responsible for the death of a living
being—no matter how small—is a pretty shitty feeling, to say
the least. Ever since then, I always felt a 昀氀ash of guilt whenever
I passed the aquatics section of any pet store I visited. I’d speed
up my pace, as if I was passing a nextdoor neighbor whom I was
on bad terms with.
Fish can be deceptively di昀케cult pets to maintain. Gone
are the days of tossing your country-fair gold昀椀sh into a glass
bowl and calling it a day. Now, it seems like every home aquar-
Non-Fiction
ium in America has to be equipped with a mechanized 昀椀ltration system, submersible heater, nutrient-rich substrate, and
underwater plants imported straight from the Gulf of Mexico
via private jet for the 昀椀sh to be even remotely alive, let alone
comfortable.
A younger, less-informed version of me might have
snubbed my nose at the onslaught of expensive gadgetry
involved in beginner 昀椀shkeeping, but the older, guiltier me feels
like I need to repay a blood debt. I’m not taking any chances. So
when I step in front of the aquatic display (justi昀椀ably hesitant)
at the pet supermarket, I enlist the help of a sta昀昀 member.
A man wearing spectacles, a salt-and-pepper goatee, and
a blue vest arrives. I glance at his nametag. Rick gives me the
low-down: my 昀椀sh won’t last a day if I dump them into my new
aquarium as soon as I get home. I have to cycle my tank 昀椀rst,
which means letting my water run for a few days before putting
my 昀椀sh inside. This, Rick says, is to foster healthy bacteria in the
water so my 昀椀sh don’t get sick or die from temperature shock.
I nod slowly. I’m disappointed I won’t get to take my 昀椀sh
home today, but I’m determined to stick it out no matter the
cost.
But like most hobbies, 昀椀shkeeping grows very expensive
very quickly.
One moment I have a small but servicable 昀椀ve-gallon
tank between my palms. Next thing I know, I’m toting a ten-gallon tank out the door, packed with live aquatic plants, a bag of
special algae-forming gravel substrate, algae root tablets, algae
wafers, a jar of tropical 昀椀sh 昀氀akes, frozen bloodworms, aquarium water conditioner, plastic fern decorations, a plastic tree
trunk, a ceramic miniature of Spongebob’s pineapple abode,
and, of course, my TripleMax III submersible water 昀椀lter.
My stomach begins to sink on the way home. Since my
parents raised me to be frugal (God bless them) spending a large
sum of money is a stressful, draining event for me.
As a result, my initial enthusiasm rapidly transforms into
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