My fish, Speckface, died last week. Sunshine was in charge of burial, since I was too sad and felt guilty enough about being a poor fish-care-giver, without adding the guilt of being a fish-flusher. Which really would have been too much for me. A couple of days later I brought a quarter bottle of water to the fish store on Wickenden St. who said that my water was very acidic (she wrinkled her nose at me) and lacking minerals. Bad, Bad fish-owner, she seemed to imply, as if I needed further beration.

Days later, after soaking the bag of coral she sold me for a buck, I grabbed fistfulls and tried to bury them into the gravel of my ten-gallon aquarium. I felt a little spastic, a little afraid of accidentally poking one of Charlie's eyes out (Charlie is still alive and swimming, though maybe a little lonely), and wondered if it's normal to feel a little embarassed about my graceless attempts at caregiving. Charlie surely doesn't mind how he gets his food, coral, and fresh filter so long as it gets done, but still I feel like apologizing to him when I'm re-inserting the filter for the third time, saying, don't worry, this time I'll get it right. Charlie just flaps his fins at me. He's a good fish.

I should also mention that sunshine grew a spider plant for me (I call it Spidey), planted it and gave it to me as a very nice present a few weeks ago. This is one of the toughest plants ever to sprout from the earth, real survivors, but already it's leaves are drooping. Needless to say, one begins to wonder about their capacity to nurture.

Needless to say. And yet.

I did work one summer as an au pair/nanny/the sitter (depending on my employers mood & company), charged with the well-being of a 1 year old and 4 year old. Neither of them died. And I did manage to save one kid from drowning in the pool while his mom made a vodka tonic by a tiki torch. So maybe there's a small amount of hope, given enough resilience in the species I am meant to keep alive.

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