405 - Good Morning

January 1, 2012

It was when the goldfish started talking to me when I realized I might be…unwell. There were three of them. And when they spoke it wasn’t as if their mouths were opening and closing, little bubbles drifting to the surface of their tank. That was my first clue. My second clue was, of course, the fact that fish can’t speak. I lost my mind.

Isn’t that weird, losing your mind? Let me tell you, it is. You know how sometimes, say, you’re getting ready to go out somewhere, and you set your keys and wallet and phone, etc. down on your dresser, readying to go out, and when you reach for these things, your keys are suddenly missing? You’re certain you set them down next to your wallet, you can still feel their weight in your hand. And you remember very clearly seeing them there, shining under the lamp’s light. But now they’re nowhere to be found. One moment, you’re all set, the very next, you’re tearing apart your apartment trying to find them even though you just had them. That’s what it feels like to lose your mind: one moment it’s there, the next it’s not.

I listened to them for a while, the goldfish. They were having a conversation. This was before the started talking to me. A day before. And I wasn’t certain it was them I heard at first. Maybe it was neighbors just outside my window (my apartment is on the first floor). But when I tried to follow the sound of voices, I found myself looking into the fish tank as if it were a television show. I couldn’t tell you now what they were saying, but I remember it sounding like cafe ambient noise.

The next morning, one of the goldfish said good morning to me. What I’d chalked up to a weird, simple dream, turned out to be real.

For a moment, I thought, “What do you say to a goldfish when it says good morning to you?”

When I was a kid, we had a dog. It was one of those big long hair dogs. A collie, I think. I’m sure. But I remember for a while my younger brother would talk to it as if it was a person. He would ask the dog how it was and ask what it did that day. It was ridiculous and I laughed at my brother because he was so stupid.

For years after hearing the goldfish say good morning to me, I’ve imagined my younger brother would tell me I wasn’t stupid. No, I was crazy. But my younger brother won’t say that to me because he’s been dead for years.

For years, I’ve also wondered how things might’ve been different if I hadn’t ever bought the goldfish. Would I’ve discovered my mind was ready to break without them? Or were they what set me off?

I woke up that morning and got dressed for work and drank some coffee. And on the way out, one of the goldfish said,”Good morning, Johnathan,” and I thought for a moment what I should say.

Of course, I said, “Good morning.”

It seemed like the right thing to say.