Belly Up*
I stared at Pip, my goldfish through my swollen eyes as my phone rang on my desk. Pip’s eyes were wide open, his mouth agape, and his belly faced the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. I looked away from Pip, and picked up my phone with trembling hands. “Hi dad,” my voice sturdier than I had expected it to be. “What’s up?”
“I just got off the phone with your chemistry teacher,” he replied, and I could almost see that crocodile grin stretching across his lips like it had so many times before when he’d caught me off guard in a lie. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
I hesitated.
I had already lost, but I could soften the blow depending on my response. I knew better than to smile and lie, because then I’d be caught twice over for deceiving him, not to mention the trouble I’d be in for my grade in chemistry. But, if I were honest, he’d ask why I hadn’t told him sooner, and I’d scramble to lie…again. “Elise?” he urged me on.
“I don’t know,” my voice finally shook.
“You don’t know?” His crocodile grin faltered. “Well what do you know?”
I looked at poor Pip, belly up. “You’re angry, and Pip’s gone.”
“Anything else?” his voice refused to soften.
I drew a shaky breath. “I have a D in chemistry.”
“So you did know,” he laughed humorlessly. “And you didn’t tell me?”
I didn’t think I could. “Pip is gone.”
“Just flush it before it stinks,” he replied. “We’ll talk about this when I get home.”
The line died and I threw my phone on the bed; the lecture just got 20 minutes longer, my mind scolded me. If he finds out, I replied, but he always knew somehow. I let myself look at Pip again, and his eyes looked back without seeing anything. I’d stopped crying once dad called out of habit, the lecture continues to grow in length.
***
I stared at Pip as my father roared over me. I’d never get into a good school. I’d never amount to anything. Was I stupid? I don’t know. I shouldn’t be crying. Why was I crying? He wasn’t even angry. He sounded angry. Was there something wrong with me? I think there is, dad. But I didn’t say it, because I knew he wouldn’t have believed me if I said so. I just kept apologizing, kept crying, while my brain kept spinning like a drill, digging myself deeper and deeper into a hole.
I counted nine apologizes.
Maybe ten would have been enough.
Maybe not.
He was finished, at least for now, with his tirade. I knew he’d be back; he always forgot to say something. I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to get my mind to stop spinning, it could have been for hours, or seconds, I didn’t know.
My eyes hurt.
I sat up; Pip was still there, his stare accusatory.
Can’t even even take care of a stupid fish.
How could you amount to anything?
Maybe dad’s right.
That nagging voice in my brain spat venom into my veins. I stood and picked up the bowl that held Pip, poor Pip, roughly, the water sloshing, and almost spilling over the edges, but, blissfully, nothing escaped.
The bathroom was three steps from my bedroom, but it felt like miles to go in enemy territory, but I made it, door shut, locked, alone. I put Pip on the floor, and lifted the toilet seat and lid. I sat down, grabbing Pip and holding him in my lap. I’m sorry, Pip. The water spilled over into the toilet bowl. I closed the lid, I couldn’t watch as I flushed Pip down the drain. I sat there, waiting until the noise from the toilet ceased tears spilling over onto my cheeks in the quiet, too quiet.
Ten apologies. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.
I stood, washing my hands in the sink. I tried to avoid looking at my reflection, but I caught a glimpse anyway: purple and red rimmed green eyes, sunken in cheeks, and chapped, cracked lips. I reached for the knob to re-enter enemy territory, and there was a knock.
“Did you take care of that fish?” my dad demanded.
“Yes,” I don’t know how I kept my voice from shaking.
“Good, make sure to spray air freshener,” he replied. “Your room stinks.”
I listened to his footsteps fading before wrenching open the door, and racing to my room, lavender scented aerosol in hand, I sprayed it heavily, before placing the half used can where Pip used to be. Lavender did nothing to calm my nerves, but something stopped me from crying long enough to look out my window; the sun was setting, oranges, pinks, and the singular, brilliant ball of red just above the horizon. I laid in bed again, turning out the lights, staring at the ceiling, door open, listening for the moment when the chatter turned to silence.
***
My room was pitch dark, and quiet, too quiet, for me to sleep. I kicked off the covers and stood, walking over to the desk, tracing my fingers over the ring Pip’s bowl had left, bet you heard about that, that nagging little voice snapped at me. My fingers paused in their tracing, tears burning my eyes, but I blinked them back, my eyes were already raw. I wrapped my arms around my chest and went into the bathroom and sat on the cold tile floor; the night light in the corner was enough to find the Tylenol PM in the medicine cabinet and take it back to my room. I sat on my bed, holding the bottle in my lap, hands shaking as I opened the childproof lid. That’s not fair, the voice told me.
“Just enough to sleep,” I murmured to myself before lying on my back, eyes open, mouth agape.
***
* originally published in the Spring 2017 edition of UMSL Litmag
