Hive Ave Fall2024 - Flipbook - Page 34
Non-Fiction
Hive Avenue Literary Journal
wild, overwhelming regret. I suddenly remember I’m a borderline-broke college student. Midterms are next week. I don’t have
a girlfriend. I can barely take care of myself, yet spending more
than a hundred dollars on 昀椀shkeeping supplies is somehow a
good idea. What gives?
But when I arrive home, newfound hope surges within
me. I 昀椀ll the tank with bathtub water and haul it into the living
room, spraining my back in at least ten di昀昀erent places. Old me
will hate me for this, but I’m too excited to care. I have a new
project. I place the tank on a low shelf and set up the 昀椀lter.
In 昀椀shkeeping, the rule of thumb is one inch of 昀椀sh per
gallon. On Friday, I come home with seven inches of 昀椀sh. I have
three mollies—a black couple and one dalmatian—that are as
jumpy as bedbugs, and two cat昀椀sh. Since each one is two inches
long, each cat昀椀sh is equal to two 昀椀sh. I’m sure the IRS has something to say about that, but until my cat昀椀sh start 昀椀ling their
own tax return forms, they have nothing to worry about.
The mollies are your regular, run-of-the-mill 昀椀sh. They
swim around and nibble at things experimentally, as 昀椀sh do.
They hang around in a group, although I’m sure my dalmatian
is already feeling the awkward sting of being a third wheel. To
swim, or not to swim—that is the question. In spite of everything, however, he tags along. At times, he seems almost happy.
There is something unimaginably restful about watching
昀椀sh swim. I can spend entire meals sitting in front of my 昀椀sh
tank the way a kid watches cartoons, silent and enraptured.
Granted, some of my 昀椀sh aren’t as active, of which my
plecos are the chief culprit. The plecostomus—better known as
the suckermouth cat昀椀sh—is the aquatic equivalent of a sulky
teenager with too much time on its hands. They spend all day
sprawled on their stomachs, suckling at bits of algae-covered
gravel on the 昀氀oor, because staying a昀氀oat is clearly too much
e昀昀ort for them.
They’re bottom feeders, which means they eat just about
anything. This includes bits of raw meat, fruit, or vegetables. For
dinner, I’ll impale a cucumber slice, a chunk of boiled carrot, and
a couple of crushed peas on a designated fork—the one I give to
guests I don’t like—and drop it into the tank. It’s a veggie kebab.
I spoil my cat昀椀sh, but only because I love them.
Every now and then, one of my plecos will paste itself
against the glass wall of the aquarium, displaying its pale white
belly and a large, puckering mouth. Evidently, it’s trying to be an
Instagram model. More likely, though, it’s discovered a near-invisible sheen of algae scum to inhale for lunch. It’s adorable, but
alarming as well.
corral my mollies into an old co昀昀ee mug and drop them in a
Tupperware container. They’re fairly easy to corner, but my
plecos are a di昀昀erent story: they squirm and wriggle like Indian
belly dancers. When I reach for them, they dart to the other
side of the tank, and the fact that they stick to 昀氀oor as they
move makes things exponentially harder.
I’m growing frustrated. Not only because I can’t remove
them, but because it makes me feel like a monster whenever
I see them twist and thrash in terror as I reach for them. They
don’t know me. To them, they are literally 昀椀ghting for their lives.
Somehow, I manage to cup one in my palm and lift him
out the water, an experience just as terrifying for me as it must
be for my 昀椀sh.
“I won’t hurt you, please don’t die, ohmygod,” I whisper to
myself. The cat昀椀sh feels slippery in my palm, and it makes me
want to puke.
I dump him into the Tupperware container. When my
other pleco is safely inside, I let out a massive sigh of relief. I
empty the aquarium into the bathtub and rinse out the gravel.
I 昀椀ll it again and let the water sit for a while. My 昀椀sh are all too
happy to return to their tank, but the homecoming is brief and
short-lived. My mollies are unusually sedate. Every now and
then, they’ll dart around the tank in erratic zig-zags that make
my heart tighten with anxiety.
I shouldn’t have replaced all that water. I just didn’t want
my 昀椀sh to wallow in their own shit. Compared to that, anything
would have been better. Anything, except maybe the mass
murder of all my aquatic life via a sudden drop in water quality,
something which 昀椀shkeepers call New Tank Syndrome.
I’m terri昀椀ed my 昀椀sh will die, which just goes to show the
road to Hell really is paved with good intentions.
Perhaps—in a perfect world—good intentions prevail.
But I’m not in one. I steel myself for the inevitable. I don’t know
if I can handle it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to buy new 昀椀sh
again, but it’s awfully depressing to have a fully-昀椀ltered tank
lying around with nothing inside. Until I 昀椀gure out how to do
this right, I think, I should just hold back on my 昀椀shkeeping
aspirations for the next decade or so.
It’s an imperfect world. Even in imperfect worlds, however, miracles sometimes happen.
Gradually, my mollies begin to settle down. They roam
around the tank, cautiously circling the plastic ferns as if for the
very 昀椀rst time. I don’t know if I should be relieved or worried,
but I’ll take anything as a good sign as long as they aren’t upside
down.
As with all living creatures, 昀椀sh shit as much as they eat.
In less than a week, my 昀椀sh tank looks like a Reuters photograph of an industrialized third-world city. The smog is thick
and rust-orange, and my aquarium takes on a clouded, bleary
look. Worst of all, it’s made of vaporized shit-squibs, which my
昀椀lter can’t handle. The 昀椀sh don’t seem to mind, but I do.
I keep checking on my plecos. Because they lie on the 昀氀oor
all the time, it’s very hard to tell if they’re dead or just being
themselves. I tap on the glass. One of them wriggles away from
me in mild annoyance, as if I’m disturbing it from an afternoon
nap.
I take a deep breath and roll up my sleeves. Things are
going to get ugly.
okay.
After ransacking my kitchen for supplies, I’m ready. I
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I lay back on the carpet and close my eyes. My 昀椀sh are
It’s been a couple weeks. My plecos have taken up residence inside Spongebob’s pineapple. They only come out at
