So after years of my vaguely musing that one day I would buy myself an aquarium, my wife bought me one a few birthdays ago.
She also bought my then three-year old son, Xander, a red betta fish. He instantly named it “Lightning McQueen” which should suggest to the parents of young children among you that he had moved on from Thomas The Train to Cars.
My tank is a small one at ten gallons. A starter. The day after my birthday I set it up and took my son with me to buy fish. I explained to him that soon Lightning would have friends. They wouldn’t get to hang out much since Lightning is in a half-gallon tank in his room and bettas are aggressive and would probably kill any of the smaller fish that I planned to put in my tank but, hey, he seemed to like the idea.
At Petsmart, a patient young man explains to me the need to put “starter” fish in my starter tank. Basically, these cheap fish are meant to die. They start the process of making the water livable for fish that you might actually care about and that you’ll add later.
I pointed out to the patient young man that I had added a variety of liquids and powders to the tap water I poured in my tank that morning, and that each bottle had assured me that it was chock full of helpful bacteria and nutrients that would make any fish feel at home. Further, I said, the bottles all made clear that I would not need to wait even one second before creating an entire ecosystem as diverse and viable as an undiscovered coral reef.
The young man smiled, patiently.
He convinced me to at least wait until that evening to add a few hardy White Cloud Minnows–a pretty silverfish with red markings. That evening my boy and I added the fish to the tank. We were so excited! Two of the fish seemed happy, but one immediately hid behind the water filter. Before bed, I turned off the little aquarium light and hoped for the best. That morning, they all looked fine.
The next evening my son and I rushed into our darkened home to feed our new fish. I switched on the aquarium light and it cast an eerie glow around the room as we gazed in and saw what can only be described as Fishageddon. One fish was floating on the surface. Two more were suctioned to the water filter intake screen. Still another…well, actually, there weren’t anymore, but since at least seventy-five percent of the fish in my house had died, it seemed like much more.
I reached down for my little boy and tried to cover his little eyes. I was speechless.
“Daddy,” he said, “Your fish are broken.”
I nodded mutely and we suddenly turned and looked at each other.
“Lightning!”
I wanted to get to his bedroom before him, but I couldn’t leave him in a room full of dead fish, so I guided him to the door, my heart filled with dread. And there swam Lightning McQueen, alive, his huge red tail rippling like a veil all around him.
He looked at us like, “Yeah, I know…” before he floated away.
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Previously Published on Medium
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