So Dad isn't out of bed yet. This is very unusual as it is already nine and he is often up at four-thirty or five, out in the garage welding together strange bikes for some raggy collection of neo-hippies. I wander into his room and what do I find, but a large sturgeon lying in his bed, all tucked in there just like that. I stand there and the long fish is looking up at me and giving me the ol' fish eye. The fish is lying on its side and its head is resting on the pillow and that one eye that is visible is looking me over-up and down. I'm just frozen there, stunned, gulping for air. Finally the fish grumbles, "Well, what're you waiting for? Get me outta here."
And I'm all like, "Ah, huh?"
"Don't just stand there, get me outta here."
"Where... Where would you like to go? ... Where's my father?"
"I'm right here... You're lookin' right at me. Sometime last night I turned into a fish. I mean, just look at me here, I'm all scaly and I bet I stink. I ... I bet I'm all fishy smell all over, dog-gone-it." It is my dad. My father's voice. Somehow he's turned into a fish. He looks around and mutters: "Well, this is unexpected."
"Where would you like me to ..." I utter, so flabbergasted I can hardly speak.
"The bathtub, son. I ... I think I need some water. I'm ... I think I'm thirsty over here. I'm ... ah, I'm starting to feel all funny like all over."
"Yes, yes, of course," I rush over and pull him out of bed. He is very long and heavy. I run him into the bathroom. "You don't smell bad," I assure him, patting his back as I quick-step down the hall. I kneel down and gently lay him out on the tile floor and reach to draw a bath. "Warm or cold?" I ask in reference to the temperature of the water.
"On the cool side, I guess. I mean, I'm a fish here. I think fish prefer cooler water."
"How do you feel?" I put my hand under the water, gauging the temperature.
"I'm cold. The tile floor... It's cold."
The water fills and fills until the tub is full. Then I reach down and scoop him up with both hands and slip him into the water. He swims around like a natural. He looks happy. "Are you happy, Dad?" I ask.
He peeks his head up. "I'm a fish, Son. I don't know if I'm happy or not. I'm not sure I really have emotions like I used to. ...I guess I'm not unhappy... I seem to like swimming around here." His body undulates as he moves, his tail thrashing and slapping. "Look at me go."
"You're doin' good, Pop. Real good."
"I seem to be, I guess... What's it like out?"
I'm crouching on the floor, so I have to raise my head and stretch to look out the window. "Ah, nice, I guess," I strain my neck, "but we shouldn't take you out."
"No. No. I'm safer in here. Certainly."
"Oh no," I exhale.
"What? What is it? What now?" My dad swims, going fast, then slow, fast, then slow-curving arcs and cutting angles, gently slithering through the water just the way you'd expect a long, thin fish to do.
"Looks like the Smith house is on fire. I see smoke coming out the kitchen window next door."
"Well get over there. Call the police. Don't just ..."
"OK." I jump up and rush out, "I'll be back in a minute. I won't leave you."
"Hurry! ... Hurry! ..." Dad gulps as if out of breath. "Call the emergency number! Get the fire department over there! And tell them about me! Maybe this has been going on all over town. Get them over here! But don't eat me! Tell them not to eat me! Don't eat me! That would be the worst, to be eaten."
I hear him as I rush out. I snatch the cordless phone from the table as I jump out the front door and off the front stoop, dialing as I run.
Later, I walk back into the bathroom, half expecting this entire episode to be over, half expecting everything to have played itself out and returned to normal, half expecting him to just be lying there in the tub in his pajamas as if this is all just a spell that has finally worn off. But when I get in there, he is still in the water, still circling around, still a long fish.
"Well?" he looks up at me, swimming on his side now, as if showing off.
"Just a grease fire. Mr. Smith forgot about his morning sausage and it burned."
"Looks like I'm gettin' the hang of it now, eh?" He darts quick loops and figure eights, swishing and thrashing fast then slow, fast then slow.
"Yeah. Sure does, Pop." I try to remain positive, buoyant.
"Where are the emergency people?"
"They're not coming."
"What? Not coming? Are they busy cleaning up over there?"
"Well, not really. They don't believe me. They don't believe you turned into a fish in the middle of the night. And even so, they said it would be a family matter and they weren't sanctioned to get involved."
"Hmmm. How 'bout that."
"Yeah, I don't know what we're gonna do here," I shake my head, standing above the tub.
My dad looks up at me and asks, "Are you happy?"
"Huh?"
"You know, are you happy? ... Before you left you asked if I was happy. And I got to thinking about it and was wondering about you, Son."
"What makes you ask that?"
"I'm just trying to make conversation here, that's all. I guess I was just wondering if you're happy. Or if you've been happy lately. I mean, I guess I'm happy now that I'm swimming around in here and all. This makes me happy, I guess." He splashes about playfully, "I mean, I'm a fish and all and fish seem to like swimming, so here I am. But are you happy?"
"Well, gee, I don't know. I mean, let's see here-you're a fish. That's what I've been thinking about lately. So, no. I guess I'd have to say that I haven't really thought about it all that much in the last few moments because I'm too concerned that you're a fish, Dad, you're a fish."
"I know that, Son. I know that I'm a fish, but since there's nothing I can do about it right now, I thought I'd make some conversation."
Suddenly, I get so frustrated and helpless and freaked out about the combination of the bizarreness and the banality of it all, the clashing of the two, that I just start screaming: "STOP BEING A FISH, DAD!!! STOP BEING A FISH!!!" I stomp and demand, as if the volume of my voice, the passion of my conviction, could somehow change things back to how they were.
"Son, you always did get too worked up over things."
"Stop it, Dad," I whisper, "Stop being a fish. Please."
"Don't feel bad, Son. I'm fine. This isn't so bad after all. I mean, really. Just look at me here. You always were so uptight. You know what the secret is? Huh? Do you?"
"No Dad, tell me. Tell me what the secret to being a fish is. Tell me, Dad. Tell me all about it. Tell me right now." I grab the top of my head with both hands and bend at the knees, the full realization of events finally hitting me. Suddenly I feel drained-empty and numb and yet heavy and weighed down and tingly all at the same time, as if I am filling with sand, or as if my essence, my being, is being drained out of me like sand from an hourglass. "Impart your fishy wisdom on me," I wince and choke.
"I'll tell you. I'll tell you right now. The secret is to just roll with the punches, kiddo, and not sweat the little stuff so much."
And with that, for some reason, suddenly, he turns into a baby elephant.
And I'm all like, "Dad? Oh, man, what now, Dad? Whoa. What now?" reaching out as if he is falling and I'm supposed to be the one to catch him, only I never learned how to catch someone who was falling, and now I have to learn all on my own in the very moment that the person is tumbling.
"I'll tell you what now, Son," he raises his trunk and blares. "Get some hay, Son, get some hay."
© 2006 by Tony Rauch.