One

The day before Uncle Eli came home from Iraq, Ben and I had some house cleaning to do. Ben didn’t live with me of course; he was my bass player. We were going to be famous after high school, the kind of guitar wizards that make women hyperventilate and pass out. That kind of Rock God. But that after school that day, we were just housecleaners, and Mom had given me a simple ultimatum: either dump my goldfish and clean out the spare room or let Angie—my parasitic little sister—move into my room. Mom said the house was just too crowded.

I had a choice: Eli or the fish.

I looked at the fish tank—a glass cube filled with brown, murky water and said, “sorry, buddy” to the tiny blot of orange that circled inside. That fish had been with me for six years, ever since Dad ran off with Mom’s “best friend”. The divorce was ugly—Mom landed custody and bought me a fish.

The fish was family.

But Eli taught me to play guitar.

So we saddled up in the Malibu with the aquarium. Picture my scrawny body in my standard black tee and jeans, flipping dyed-black hair out of my face, and Ben, tallest kid to never play organized basketball—the oddest pair of housekeepers in Corn Valley.

We passed the city limits, heading for the river. On a map, Corn Valley was officially known as Connely. We dubbed it Corn Valley back in junior high because of the endless fields that encroached on all sides in summer and early fall. Strictly nowhereville. A good incubator for a Rock God, I suppose; I wanted to flee Connely more than anything.

Ben and I bounced in my Malibu as we crossed over the Gorgo River Bridge. A few rolls of duct tape and crossed fingers held that car together, but it had a moon roof. A moon roof was cool, right? Definitely Rock God material. I steered onto a dirt road that led to the water. Ben balanced the half-full fish tank on his lap, and when the car skidded and jumped on the gravel, nasty water crested the aquarium wall and sprayed on his jeans.

I laughed.

“I’m getting fish crap all over my legs—” Ben lifted the tank just off his lap, trying to keep the water from splashing him as it slopped over the lip.

“We’re almost there,” I said.

Ben groaned and sat the tank back on his damp leg. “Why didn’t you just dump this stupid fish in the toilet anyway?”

We’d been band mates for years and friends a lot longer. Ben was long and slow with a mess of brown hair on top. Not slow-witted, but slow as in chilled out all the time—at least when fish feces wasn’t running down his leg. I think that’s why he played bass. The bass guitar was a soul instrument; he convinced me of that. Ben had soul, from his Anime stomping big feet to his brown, almost-black eyes.

“I just figure I owe this fish a fighting chance.” I tried to sound convincing.

“Elliot, you’re nuts.” Ben looked into the top of the tank. “This guy is food for the big lunkers. Should have flushed him, let him die quickly.” He laughed. “Sometimes you’re so, weird.”

“Shut up.”

“Why’d your mom make you—”

“She said things would be too crowded with Eli living with us.”

“I think she’s a fish-hater.” Ben held his nose. “I can’t imagine why.” His eyes rolled at the smell. “She’s wanted to dump this aquarium for years.”

I slid the car into park. “Here.” I pulled an old fish food container from under my seat, opened it, and pinched out a few flakes.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ben asked.

“Final meal.” I flipped some hair out of my eyes. “Give him some energy for the chase ahead.” The goldfish circled the flakes for a moment, opened its wide, black mouth, and gobbled them. It kind of looked at me as it turned back into the dark water.

I climbed out, Ben handed me the tank, and I lugged it to the river’s edge, clutching it against my tee. The water sparkled with the sun. Maybe I’m some kind of sentimental nut-job, but I choked up a bit. That fish had been around for a while.

“Let’s go, El!” Ben shouted from the car. “I’m hungry.”

“Good luck,” I said as I tipped the tank toward the flowing water and watched the streak of gold slide out and into the river. With an electric flash, the fish vanished. If I knew about the monsters lurking that fall, hiding just past my vision, I might have thought about diving in and vanishing too.

“I’ll never understand you,” Ben yelled from the car.

I wasn’t sure I would ever understand myself.