Theme Thursday : Fish !

My neighbor professed the following to me one day, after stealing worms from my lawn. I didn’t really mind, as I wasn’t planning on using the worms.

She said,

“I was once a fish.”

Then she returned to her home. I didn’t see her again for several days, even though I expected to find her on my lawn every day as I returned home from work.

One morning I woke up early and realized that I had forgotten to take the trash out to the curb for pick up.

Subconsciously I supposed my mind woke me up because inherently I knew the weekly collection schedule.

Or maybe my mind desired another meeting with my strange neighbor lady, the woman I had taken to thinking of as

the ‘Fish lady.’

I went out the back door to grab the trash can and lo,

she was there in my garden turning over

stones and statuary,

I assume searching after worms. She fled from my yard, crossing the low fence

like a seasoned salmon

skipping up a hard current.

I was thoroughly possessed.

For the next few days I went to her door to inquire after her,

I confess I was somewhat smitten

but I don’t know why.

She never answered; if she was at home I never knew. Certainly I never saw her leaving or returning. I missed several days of work trying to sort out the mystery,

and my feelings.

The thought came to me early, and brightened my mood:

a good thing as I was feeling blue about the gills.

It was a hike, but the brisk walk chased away my funk and soon I arrived at the bait shop and purchased a large tin of squirming red worms. To me they looked as appetizing as a slab of beef, highly undercooked.

Take that as you see it,

I was surely confused as to my rationale.

I was invigorated by the return walk, and moved languidly from one side of the walk to the other as I navigated the path, single mindedly making my way to a

certain goal.

Once home, I crossed my yard and deposited the tin of worms on my neighbor’s front stoop, intending to knock at the door then flee to my own domicile. But it wasn’t to be, as

the ‘Fish lady’

without pause threw open her door and pulled my gift of worms

and me

into her foyer.
The exchange was brief but furious and ravenous

and all of those intensely descriptive words

and in the end I left confused but surely satisfied as to my worldly contribution, whatever that was to be.

I returned home famished and ate a pound of raw hamburger.

I was carefree and happy after that, commonly walking the lawn and turning over stones.

Work was a pleasure and I never missed another day.

About 8 weeks later I found myself feeling anxious and began pacing in my living room.

I couldn’t concentrate on the television or the newspaper;

at work I ruined several manuscripts and was admonished frequently

and finally given a mandatory week vacation.

Leaving work wasn’t a problem, but going home wasn’t much of a consolation.

Instead I sat on my neighbor’s grass and fidgeted.

Possibly I had passed out, I believe I was laying face down and drooling,

when her garage door opened up and a small car backed out.

I sat up, and she rolled down her window and waved and

beeped the horn,

then turned into the road and pulled away.

In the back window, lined up along the shagged ledge,

were a dozen glass bowls,

swimming with tiny fish, all fins and tails squiggling in youthful anticipation of the beach.

Off they drove,

I would never see them again, and I heard

a hundred tiny lips

calling out,

“Are we there yet?”