Frigid

Today I’m feeling heavy. It has been years since I’ve last had to perform a funeral rite for a fish, but at least with that fish I had adequate enough time to bond with him before his final end.

Less than 48 hours ago, two friends and I invaded our local Petco, just to look around. A friend of ours had been there the day previous, and told us how beautiful all the new betta fish looked. There were many new colors and shades – golds, blues, vibrant reds, and even pale purples. They had every type of betta imaginable, it seemed. Crowntail, half-moon, double-tail, delta tail…lots of little fish chilling out in their tiny carry-home cups. I was overcome by a desire for a companion. After much coaxing and pleading over text message, my mother agreed to let me get a fish, provided that I was the one to take care of him. I agreed.

I found a beautiful, feisty blue crowntail betta that stuck out, and knew his name already. I had picked out the name a year and a half before, intending to get a fish as soon as I got to school, but never having the chance until now. I had been waiting since then to use the name: Gygax. The little blue crowntail fit his name perfectly.

I brought him home and put him in a temporary tank, and obsessed over the cleanliness and warmth of the water. The very next day I bought him a permanent tank, complete with a water heater, and transferred him into his new home. I was pleased, and he seemed pleasantly amused with the tank. I didn’t feel like I had to worry much about him, but I continued to fuss anyhow. Was the light too bright, or too warm? Did he prefer the light off? Did he want the air filter on, or was the current from it too strong for him. He wasn’t swimming, was he just resting, or was he being sluggish? I spent more time fussing in that day than I fussed in my entire two years of owning my last betta.

Despite my fussing, Gygax did not survive the second night. Somehow his water heater had become unplugged, and the chill of the night swept in. He was not able to withstand the unearthly chill of the North Adams night, even with all windows closed and whatever heat the school was supplying flowing in vain through the room. Even I felt the air’s chill especially last night, and when I woke up in the morning, my Gygax had perished.

I gave him a “proper Viking funeral” – sans flame – between classes this morning, complete with the playing of “Eulogy Song” by SJ Tucker. I found it fitting…in part due to the title, but also in part because of the lyrics:
The skeleton inside insists that every step's a toy, a eulogy for a heavy metal boy … I feel a night flight coming on … the skeleton dance forces up all joy, one last hurrah with your heavy metal boy, skip all the graveyards stone by stone . All alone , and what are you thinking?

It is with a heart heavy with guilt and regret that I write this. Perhaps if I had double-checked before going to bed that he had his heater plugged in…perhaps if I had done this differently, or done that differently, maybe I’d still have him with me. I know that perhaps it seems silly to place so much on the death of a small fish I had only had for such a short period of time, and perhaps it really is silly. But at the same time, it reminds me that there is such mortality in all of us. Though I did my best to care for him as I saw his needs, in the end, he did not have the warmth to survive the night.

Maybe I am crazy to think in metaphors constantly, but this particular one resonates with me. People need warmth in all manners – temperature, emotion, closeness to others – and it is that much easier to perish in this world without it, even if all other needs are met. How often nowadays do those with cold and dejected hearts end things when they cannot seek out and do not have the ability to tell others about the warmth that they need?

Winter is coming. I can feel the chill already.