Ian

I was reading a very interesting book tonight, and despite the fact that I NEEDED to know what happened to Verna, the main character, my mind drifted away. Suddenly I found myself trying to keep up with my eyes as they continued to move across the page over the words, but when I went to turn the page I knew that I had not comprehended anything that I had read in the past thirty seconds. I momentarily closed the book and thought back to a conversation I had only an hour earlier.

My Poet called me tonight, and when I looked at the caller ID, my heart skipped a beat. It was the same cell phone number from the night before. Kirk's cell phone that was being used by Ian to call me.

I had idly hoped earlier in the day that Ian might call me, but realizing that his phone was out of the service area, I had accepted the fact that there was another twenty-four hours standing in the way of communication. However, he borrowed his buddy's phone to call me anyway.

Last night, or rather, early this morning, two of my beta fish died. I suppose that only one is really mine, technically. I know for sure that I purchased Sophie with my own money, so you could say that she was my fish, but Ian was with me, and we bought them together, excited and laughing. At some point, it does not even matter who buys, but rather, who is there. Ganymede was definitely both of ours though. No, they were both our fish. We both love them, and we both would watch each other's fish at any given moment, just because the other had requested it. We are single parents who swap duties to make sure all of the children, (fish), are cared for.

We already had one die before, Kore, and we had been deeply hurt by that loss. I had spent several hours last night, despite the illness I am currently harboring, staying by the tank, bringing Sophie and Ganymede gently up for air on regular intervals when they were too weak to swim up themselves. In the beginning it was a miracle. Two fish I assumed were dead began moving when I uttered the words "God, please let them live! What will I tell Ian if they die?" They did live, but only for a while longer. I watched as their scales went from a deathly black to their original color, then turned white and their movements became weak, indicating their imminent doom.

They died several hours after I had witnessed a miraculous recovery. They were just fish, but they were my fish, my baby girls. I had no idea what to say to Ian. Later, I could not help not going to the store to fill their space, and I ended up with three new fish. As crazy as it sounds, I did not want the other three fish to be lonely. Ganymede and Sophie were the originals, the big sisters of the fish tank, and I adored their constant rivalry.

I have digressed, this is about the phone call. When Ian called, despite how I needed to tell him, I wanted to hear about his day. I did not want to ruin it for him. He was so excited, and I was so glad that he got to go skiing. Sometimes school can be too much, and he really loves being on those runs, I wish I could make it so he could ski everyday, even though it would mean I would be away from him.

Finally I said,
"Ian, I have some bad new."
"One of the fish died."
"No, we lost both of them."

The silence on the other end was deafening, I felt his pain because I felt it too. I had felt it all day. It is moments of despair that make me respect life as a gift even more.


"I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry, you didn't do it."
"It wouldn't have happened if you had been watching them."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I. . . Can't."
"There you go. You have no reason to be sorry."
"It was still my fault. I went to the pet store today."
"Oh. We have more fish, don't we?" His voice brightened slightly. I was happy for it.
"Yes, we do. Three in fact."

Our conversation continued on and we told each other that we loved the other and hung up. I miss him terribly.

What drew me out of my reading, however, was what he said in those few lines where we discussed the fish.
'WE have more fish, don't WE?'

Never before has anyone just assumed that they were part of it. They are our fish. He is not running away, he is not making them his, but they are ours. We are a crazy family, those 10 fish and us. In some way, it meant more to me than anything else I have heard him say about us, because it was not him trying to explain it. It was fact. It was a given in the proof.

I felt safer in that moment, than I have ever been with anyone. No matter what our problems, no matter how deep he gets in it, no matter how far down I sink myself, we have someone there.

Our crazy, mixed up family.

Now that I think about it, that was my miracle. Seeing the two fish come back was unreal, I cannot imagine even explaining it in words, but this, this beats even that. This is love, real, tangible, and something that everyone can believe it. It is love based on trust.

Thank you Ian. Thank you.