The dim, purple-tinted glow lit up Jamie’s face as she dragged the wooden broomstick down the aisles lined with fish tanks. A piece of wood sticking out from the neck of the broomstick rubbed against the soft skin between Jamie’s index finger and her thumb. She repositioned it so that she might avoid the uncomfortable pressure of the wood digging into her flesh. With every shift, the splintered piece somehow found its way back to its original position.
Jamie kept sweeping with her hand loose around the handle, gliding across the buffed floor of the shop. Only a few more minutes of breathing in the strange smell of aquarium water and the settled layer of a full week’s dust and grime before she could lock up and go home. She longed to sit in the heat of her car away from the unsettling chill currently wrapped around her shoulders. A French song played quietly from her cell phone. Jamie mumbled gibberish along with the lyrics.
The front door swung open. The sudden motion sent the wind chimes hanging above into a messy frenzy of noise. Jamie gripped the broomstick’s handle and felt the broken wood pierce her skin. The broom rattled against the floor, the sound joining the singing wind chimes that were just starting to die down. Jamie stood frozen, her hand a closed fist, as she ignored the pain. She began to walk towards the center of the store to confront the intruder.
“We’re closed!” she called out as she inched down the narrow aisle. “I know there’s the open sign…and the door was unlocked, but that’s just poor judgment on my part, so…”
She had made it halfway down the aisle when a tall figure came into view. The figure took a step forward. Although he was still blanketed by the shadows of the shelves, Jamie could see his face now, though it was distorted by the glow from the fish tanks. She could see the deep sockets of his eyes, the dark crescents beneath them, and the nervous twitch of his mouth. Her eyes travelled down. He held a small knife at his side. Jamie could see the blade pointed in her direction. Slowly, she brought her hands up. A bead of blood was building on the skin between her index and thumb, and it stung to hold open her hand as it stretched apart the fresh cut.
“My girlfriend wants a fish,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse and strained as he took a step forward.
Jamie could hear her heartbeat crashing into her chest at an unsteady rhythm. Her thoughts raced, the seconds between her and the man hanging in the air. As she opened her mouth, she choked on the words that left her throat.
“What kind of fish?” She opened and closed her hands but kept them raised.
The man took another step forward and turned his head toward the luminous tanks. Jamie could see his features more clearly now. She could see his hooked nose and his thick eyebrows pulled together in what she could only guess to be distress. His large eyes scanned the various fish on display. He snapped his head back in her direction, the clarity of his face disappearing back into the shade. He mumbled something Jamie could not decipher.
“What’s your name?” Jamie called out as she slowly lowered her arms down to her sides.
He didn’t reply. He tightened his fingers around the hilt of the knife. He looked between Jamie and the fish tanks, back and forth. His gaze landed on a small fish with black and white scales. He brought his arm up to wipe sweat from his eye. He looked down at his wet sleeve before shifting his gaze back to where she stood.
“Tell me yours first,” he said. His voice was rougher than it had sounded when he spoke moments ago.
She swallowed the lump clogging her throat.
“Lisa Jameson. You can call me Jamie if you’d like,” she said.
“What fish do you recommend, Lisa?”
She took a deep breath and looked at the tanks. She wasn’t sure if her vision was blurring because she was tearing up or losing focus, but she squinted hard enough to make out the splotches of color moving behind the glass. Her stare landed on a vibrant yellow blur swimming from one side of the tank to the other. She looked at the man who was watching her, his eyes squinting and distrustful.
“May I?” she whispered.
He nodded once.
She moved carefully towards the glass and lifted her hand to point at the little yellow spot. She put her finger down on where the fish had stalled. The moment her skin touched the glass, it sped off to the other side of the tank.
“She hates yellow,” he said quietly.
“Your girlfriend.” She peered at the knife in his hand, now hanging loosely in his grip.
“My girlfriend,” he responded.
She considered this. “What color does she like?” she asked.
He blinked twice. He scratched the side of his face. “Grey,” he said.
She looked back at the tank and searched for a grey fish. Coming up unsurprisingly unsuccessful, she peered behind her at the other tanks. She worried that he could hear the booming of her pulse. She took a deep breath and tried to clear her vision. Her eyes fell on a small, silver fish.
“What about this one?” he followed her stare. “I know it’s not grey—”
“A silver fish,” he said.
“Yes,” she squeaked.
“Like the bug?” he asked. She looked at the fish, unmoving in the water as if suspended in space.
“Insect actually. But this is a fish, a silver molly,” she replied. The man let out a snort. Jamie’s eyes widened. He began to laugh, the sound low, guttural, and strong, as if she had told him a joke. Her bottom lip quivered, her body unsure how to react.
“Ow, ow,” he said, touching his forehead as he laughed. The sound died down into a chuckle until it stopped altogether. “I’ll take it,” he said, still smiling. Jamie nodded and looked around, feeling awkward.
“I need to get a bag,” she said. His smile fell, his face now suspicious. “They’re behind you.” He moved out of her way.
She reached across him to grab a clear plastic bag, a wire to tie it with, and a dry net. As she moved closer to him, she glanced sideways to where he stood. From this close, she could see the long pink line starting at his temple and crossing over his ear into his hair. The area was patchy and bare, making the scar stand out. He turned to face her, and she turned her attention back to the supplies.
He watched her as she filled the bag with water and proceeded to scoop the frantic fish with the net into the bag. She twisted it closed and sealed it with the wire.
“You need food,” she told him.
He lifted an eyebrow.
“For the fish…there’s some near the cash register—”
“Take me there,” he said with the knife raised once again.
She walked ahead of him. When they got to the register, she picked up two containers of fish food and placed them gently in his shaking palm. She brought the bag up to give to him, but both his hands were occupied.
“Thank you,” he whispered. He slipped the knife into his back pocket and replaced it with the bag. He brought it up to look at the fish where it hovered below the surface of the water. He looked at Jamie’s distorted face through the bag, then brought it down again. “She’s going to love it.” He smiled then, as any other customer might smile at her. He nodded once before he turned around and left through the door, leaving the sounds of shimmering wind chimes in his wake.
Jamie looked around herself and then looked down at the damaged skin on her hand. She thought about the broom lying untouched in the aisle. Without going back to put it away, Jamie locked up the store. She made her way toward the car she had been dreaming about just moments ago. She turned the key, and the engine revved; the sound it made was whiny and loud enough to wake up a neighborhood. When she pulled out of the parking lot, she could see the purple hues of the lights she had forgotten to turn off, the sidewalk cast in magenta. She drove around the block twice, passing the store each time but never going back in. She drove down a familiar street and rolled down the front windows with her eyes trained on the sidewalks.
When she saw him, she rolled them back up, cutting off the cool night air. She parked about five feet away from where he sat on the curb. She got out of the car and approached the man holding a bag containing a fish and a dandelion, the top of it not a flower but not quite yet a ball of fluff. Somewhere in between.
He rested both elbows on his knees, his body rocking softly, and his head moving back and forth between the bag and the dandelion.
When he looked up and saw her, his face cracked into a brilliant smile.
“I got you a fish!” he exclaimed, holding it out to her.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she sat beside him on the curb. “I love it. Let’s get you home.”
Kassia Scotti, a Montreal native, attended Concordia University and obtained her BA in Honours in English and Creative Writing. She has been published in two magazines. She loves women’s fiction, romcoms, and picking up new hobbies. She is an avid reader and writer, and has been ever since she was a young girl. It was there for her then, and it continues to be there for her now.
Featured image by Daniel Von Appen on Unsplash.
