Memory Lane

Part 16: Cold-Blooded

There are ten fish in the tank in my room. You would have loved every single one of them and given them names. But I wasn't you so they were just dumb fish to me.

I shake a bottle of fish food at the top, watching them swim gracefully to the surface. The biggest fish pushes the others aside, gulping down the tiny pellets before the fish near it can feed on the crumbs. I sigh, witnessing evolution run its course behind four sheets of glass.

In a funny way, it was exactly like that with human society. My father told me that in small ponds, the big fish always win by eating the most and reproducing frequently. The little fish were pushed to the sides, forced to fight over leftovers. I saw this happen many times in our small town, from the popularity ranking system at school to the way the wealthy neighborhoods were kept behind gated communities.

My family was the little fish. I never told my dad that, but I also never felt the need to.

He knew. But he made sure we never felt that way.

There was something about him that distracted people from thinking about his social class. He was charismatic, occasionally intense but that worked well when he spoke to his business associates. Not that I ever knew what kind of business he did, but I realized that if I were to judge my dad alone without the rest of his family, I wouldn't be able to tell if he was the big or little fish.

The Watanabes were little fish. They were big compared to the rest of society, especially taking into account my stepfather's inheritance, business, and properties, but compared to other wealthy people, they were small.

Sure, the tank was bigger and they had fancier aquarium plants, but they acted meekly. I assumed at first that they were being humble, but over time I noticed that their shyness exceeded that of the average Japanese person. Give my stepfather worn-out clothes and he could have been no different from the fruit seller on the street.

That was my very thought when I left cram school on Friday and tried to stop a group of kids from picking on Airi.

During my first week at St. Catherine's, I thought my stepsister had been more social than me, quickly assimilating into the school with a group of friends. After a longer time than I'd like to admit, I realized that her friends were distinctly unfriendly.

It was like watching myself struggle in my small town before you came.

I don't know why they did it. That was usually the least significant part. But I think Airi's unique appearance played a part.

Her so-called friends were constantly trying to expose her to the sun, once even locking her in the schoolyard without her hat and sunglasses. I saw her cowering in the shade when I looked out the window and convinced Chiyo to help me get her back inside, shielding her with a hoodie.

After that incident, they changed her homeroom, but that only delayed their antics. She lost countless sunglasses and tubes of sunscreen, each item somehow mysteriously missing from her bag. The flowers she pinned to her blazer would end up in the garbage can.

Mr. Watanabe considered pulling her from school in favor of private tutoring instead. But Airi wouldn't hear of it.

She liked being in the city. Years of private school in the remote mountains of some European country I can't remember left her craving excitement. In Tokyo, she could see the latest fashion in mere minutes after class and eat good cheap food that Mr. Watanabe forbade in the manor. There were also countless arcades and internet cafes, a veritable world of distraction.

I swatted one of the students away, yanking Airi's sunglasses from their outstretched hands. I kicked and spat at them as I walked my stepsister to the metro. I was taller than most of them, but that didn't stop them from following us all the way there.

They finally left us when we boarded, snickering as they made faces. I didn't bother to know their names. In my head, they were Dumb, Fat, and Angry. They should have been on probation for their behavior, but their families had too much influence for the school to interfere.

Dumb was the youngest daughter of a prominent politician, rumored to have skipped entrance exams for every institution she attended. She was ranked at the bottom of every test even though she was cheating by copying answers from everyone who sat next to her.

Fat was the only child of an influential talk show host. With one word, her mother could ruin anyone, especially those who said anything bad about her daughter. Countless girls were blacklisted from elite institutions thanks to Fat's mom. If only her mother knew who the real bully was.

Angry was the eldest daughter of a wealthy conglomerate. In fact, her family frequently worked with the Watanabe to find new companies to acquire. I think in childhood, she was good friends with Airi. But at some point, things went sour and she started to resent my stepsister.

As irritating as her bullies were, they were undeniably society's big fish, no matter which pond they swam in. They pretended to act humble about their wealth around adults but flaunted designer items behind their backs. Naturally, they also picked on those they thought were weak.

It was like dealing with three versions of a younger Evan, except they were girls and wealthy beyond imagination. There had to be some way I could get them to stop.

The thing about big fish was that they were easy to catch. That was also something my father said when we went boating the year before he passed. The little fish escaped as long as they didn't take the bait. But the big ones could never resist something that looked like a tasty morsel.

They were the ones we grilled on the top deck while my mother mixed sauces below. It was always the arrogant big fish that tasted the best. After conquering the sea for most of their lives, they never expect to be pulled into our nets.

It would probably be the same for Dumb, Fat, and Angry.

I dip a small net into the tank, scooping up the biggest of the ten fish. It flops around carelessly, reminding me of the way a coin would clatter before settling flat on the ground. I watch the gills heave, sucking in only air.

As it happened, my window was opened. The garden beneath yawns, stretching its flowers in the morning light. Airi would be walking through soon, ready to pick new blossoms to replace the ones in her room.

I stick the net out the window, wondering if the fish thought the outside was just another tank. I never heard of fish swimming through the air, but I've seen a few try to crawl on land. Well, there was a first time for everything.

I turn the net over, watching the fish sail through the air. The scales briefly reflect the light and for a moment, I think a piece of the sun has fallen. It plummets to the ground not far from a bushel of roses.

I close the window and place the net next to the tank. Inside, nine fish swim, oblivious to what happens beyond their aquarium. I don't think they notice their missing brethren, blowing bubbles and hiding behind sea plants.

Slowly, I descend the steps and enter the garden. A butterfly floats by, landing on a blossom. The scene is beautiful, like something out of a period piece.

My allergy pills are lodged firmly in my stomach. I walk by the flowers without incident.

When I reach the fish, it's still heaving on the ground in a puddle of water. Its eyes bulge, staring at nothing.

I scoop it up in my hands, picking up bits of the ground with the wet slippery thing. Did it know that I was the only thing standing between it and death? I could be merciful and let it rejoin the tank in my room. Maybe this incident would make it humble, more likely to share food with the rest of the fish in the tank.

I bring it back to my room, choosing to place it in the sink instead. It swims slower than before, nursing a tear in its fin. I decided to isolate it from the rest of the fish to give it a chance to heal. I even sprinkle food in to give it more nutrients.

When I check on the fish later that night, it floats in the sink, belly-side up. I prod it with my finger, but it refuses to move. Dead, despite all my efforts. I flush it down the toilet, away from the eyes of its nine brethren.

Fish, like humans, have short lifespans.