Dawn Dupler

Talking To Fish Sticks

Liza’s heart raced as she pulled her long hair back in a ponytail. She could see the small fish swimming beneath the water’s surface. Soon she would be with them. From her tote she fumbled for her diving mask and snorkel.

“Oh yes,” she whispered, dipping the mask in water, swishing a little inside and discarding the rinse behind her. No one was near. This nautical experience would be hers alone.

She felt a rush throughout her entire body when she put her face in the water. Through the mask she faced the Black Moor goldfish whose bulging eyes fixed on hers so often. Being this close provided freshness to her life. She sensed how insecure he was now that she played in his waters. Its companion, the sleek calico Shubunkin was –

“Liza.” The voice was curt. “The doctor will see you now. Please take your head out of the aquarium.”

“Alright, Mrs.-Patient-Name-Caller,” Liza grumbled after poking her head above water and removing her snorkel. She tugged at her mask and it snapped into her face. “Damn!” With her equipment safely back in her tote, she announced, “I’m ready now.”

The woman held the door to the doctor’s office. A metal lamp loomed at the threshold of his office, its shiny surface reflecting Mrs.-Patient-Name-Caller’s glower.

“The Black Moor,” – Liza said, unable to check her impulse – “says you need to get laid more often…by your own husband for a change.” Having the last word, she felt pleased.

The doctor was seated, waiting for her.

She met his stare. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything, Liza,” he smiled, or at least curled his lips in some fashion. “I’m just letting you get comfortable.”

“Like that’s ever going to happen. I must be so messed up,” she thought.

“How have things been this past week?” His smile was frozen. Liza knew it wouldn’t change until she talked. Three months ago she’d tested her theory by letting two minutes pass without answering. His smile never changed. He quietly belched once but damned if his smile didn’t budge.

“What you really mean is what’s up with the fish obsession, don’t you?” She couldn’t take the awkwardness and spoke first.

“I’m simply asking if anything significant happened.”

“Like how many fish tanks I contaminated?” She watched her boot twitch. “One. That sleazy law firm – the one who wants you to call if you’ve taken those bad pills – well, obviously not enough people called because they have way too much time on their hands. Threw me out in no time flat.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows.

Liza raised her eyebrows in mockery, staring until he spoke.

“Liza, you’ve been coming to see me for...” – the doctor flipped through his notes – “three months now?”

“Uh, oh. Insurance running out, huh?”

“No, nothing of the kind.”

Liza swore she heard Mrs.-Patient-Name-Caller moan in the distance.

“I’m just thinking we should tweak your meds. I believe we can do more to address your compulsivity.”

“You think I’m just talking to fish sticks, don’t you?” She rolled her eyes and let out a tortured sigh. “The Shubunkin thinks –”

“The Shubunkin?”

“You know, your orange-black goldfish? Swimming in that tank of water in your waiting room?”

“Certainly, but you know what it thinks?”

She hated the patronizing tone he used, but she needed to get the Shubunkin’s message out. She drew a deep breath. “The fish stick told me your patient from this morning is going to do it.”

“Do what, Liza?” His look was impassive.

“How the hell would I know? It’s your patient.” At least she got the message out.

“You’re expressing concern for others. That’s good, Liza, but let’s get back to the subject of your meds.”

Liza appealed to the ceiling. “Sure, just give me a script for whatever.”

“Many have had good results with this,” he said as he scribbled. He handed her the paper and stood, signaling their time was up. “As always, call if you need to.”

She walked into the hall with the doctor close behind.

“Wait, please.” He ducked into a supply closet and produced a carton. Handing it to her, he said, “Here’s a trial pack of the new meds.”

The carton pictured a woman in the throes of ecstasy facing the heavens, arms outstretched.

“She’s happy,” she said, pointing to the woman on the box. “The pills must really work.” She scanned the insert. “May cause gastrointestinal distress,” she read aloud. “Ooh, and heart palpitations – that could be exciting.”

“Problems are rare,” he reassured her.

And with that, she flashed a smirk and walked out.

On her walk home – a carefully planned route with no accessible aquariums – she continued studying the carton. As she strained to read the small print, an SUV rounded the corner, narrowly missing her as she stepped off the curb.

No surging of adrenaline, no quickening of her pulse. She simply continued across the street, past the blocks of offices, the occasional bookstore and bank. This was her world and she enjoyed it. A few more blocks and she would be at her apartment building.

“Take with food,” she muttered. “Why have palpitations on an empty stomach?” Feeling hungry, she promised herself she’d stop at the first restaurant or cafe she stumbled upon.

A half-block later, she ducked into a fast food restaurant. She filled her soda cup with tons of ice and some type of new fruit-flavored diet drink while she waited for her number, the number eight, to be called.

“Number eight, fish planks and cole slaw.”

She took her tray, sat at a booth and looked again at the happy person on the trial medicine carton. She put a pill in her mouth and knocked it back with her soda. Dipping her fried fish into tartar sauce, it occurred to her that not everyone carries a mask and snorkel with them. And those who did, certainly would not be eating here.