Second story/illustration for Fishing in America (dot com)

Story by Lauren Allen

Lauren writes:

I’d like to tell you about a very special fish. When I was eight, I won him at the county fair by throwing a ping pong ball into an empty fishbowl. My brother also won a fish; I guess the game wasn’t that hard. Brian made fun of my fish because mine was all white, while his was bright orange. He said, “Your fish has leprosy.”

I said, “He isn’t sick, he’s a warrior, his name is… Spartacus.”

Brian’s fish died the next week. Ha!

Spartacus was still going strong after a whole year. I loved that fish. I was very good about feeding him on time and cleaning the fishbowl. Each morning, I scooped him into my hands and pet him. He would move his mouth open and closed as if to say, “I love you, Lauren!”

Around the anniversary of bringing Spartacus home, I went to sleep-away camp for the first time. I entrusted the care of Spartacus to Mom.

When I came home from camp, Mom looked guilty. She told me “Laurie, I’m sorry, but when I was cleaning the fishbowl, I accidentally dropped your fish down the drain.”

I was devastated. I felt so guilty for abandoning Spartacus. I started sobbing. I cried for so long that Mom got uncomfortable. She said, “Calm down Laurie, it was just a fish!”

“It wasn’t any fish; it was my Spartacus!” I wailed.

Mom told me to go wash my face with cold water in the bathroom. I ran the tap for a long time as I splashed my eyes, but the tears kept coming. It was my first broken heart.

Through swollen eyes I had a vision— Spartacus floating up from the sink. Then I realized that it wasn’t a vision— Spartacus had floated up. And he was still swimming! The drain must have been very clogged to have allowed him to survive in the trap for days.

I was so happy for Spartacus. I picked him up in my hand and pet him, then I put him back in the bowl. He swam around with vigor.

I sprinted downstairs. “Mom! Spartacus is alive! Can we give him a feast to celebrate?”

“That’s wonderful, Laurie! But fish can’t tell when they’re full. If you give him too much food, he could gorge himself to death.”

I certainly didn’t want that to happen. “Well, he deserves something for all he went through. Can we buy him a girlfriend? He seems lonely.”

Mom and I went to Walmart, where my family bought all our things, and I picked out a shiny orange girlfriend for Spartacus.

I brought the lady fish home and put her in the bowl. I watched her and Spartacus swim back and forth for a while. Then I was called downstairs for dinner. When I came back upstairs, there were no fish in the bowl. Instead, there were pieces of fish: scales, chunks… one fin had even somehow flown over the top of the bowl onto the floor.

Poor Spartacus! It seems that the lady fish had eaten Spartacus and then because she ate too much, she exploded.

I washed my face with cold water, and there was no fish to swim back up from the drain and console me.

I like to think that Spartacus put up a fight and was the truest warrior to the very end.

I never bought another fish. There can only be one Spartacus.