The Veil of Youth
"Mommy, I think Horatio is dead." My daughter was standing in the kitchen holding the small green fish net in one hand.
"He’s floating on his back up top," she said, "and when I touched him he didn’t move."
So it had finally happened.
Horatio had been won in a ring toss game when the carnival came through town. Was it two months ago, or three? It didn’t really matter, because the fish had been with them long enough for both of the children to get attached.
"Does your brother know?" I asked. She shook her head.
Peggy was older and understood how the death of pets worked. She had lost a hamster already in her young life. Scott, however, had never even HAD a pet before he got Horatio. I wasn’t sure how he would handle it.
"So," I said to Peggy. "We have two choices. We can flush Horatio down the potty and tell Scott that he ran away...."
"Or," Peggy asked, trying to sound serious and not smile.
"Or, we can tell Scott that Horatio died, then have a little funeral for him."
"Funeral," Peggy said.
And it was decided.
I called Scott in from outside where he had been examining the trees in the back yard, trying to find one good for a tree-house.
He took Horatio’s death in stride.
He cried, like children will, but he seemed excited about the prospect of a burial. It was something NEW and NEW, in his 6 year old mind, meant FUN.
He rushed off to get an old cigar style crayon box. He put some of the rocks from Horatio’s tank in it, then Horatio, and he picked a spot in the garden, close to the juvenile tomato plants, to burry him.
We each said a few words over him.
"Horatio was a good fish." I said. "I knew it just as soon as the lady handed him to us at the carnival. And he didn’t smell bad or make messes like some animals do. I’ll miss him."
Peggy said, "I remember when we first put him in the fish tank, and he got stuck against the filter. He flapped and flapped so hard and it was scary, but it was funny to because he looked so silly."
When it was Scott’s turn he stood for a long time looking down at the lump of dirt that used to be his fish.
"Bye-bye Horatio," he said then looked up at me and said, "Mommy, can we get a puppy dog now?"
It must be nice to be so young, when grief can be so fleeting.
"He’s floating on his back up top," she said, "and when I touched him he didn’t move."
So it had finally happened.
Horatio had been won in a ring toss game when the carnival came through town. Was it two months ago, or three? It didn’t really matter, because the fish had been with them long enough for both of the children to get attached.
"Does your brother know?" I asked. She shook her head.
Peggy was older and understood how the death of pets worked. She had lost a hamster already in her young life. Scott, however, had never even HAD a pet before he got Horatio. I wasn’t sure how he would handle it.
"So," I said to Peggy. "We have two choices. We can flush Horatio down the potty and tell Scott that he ran away...."
"Or," Peggy asked, trying to sound serious and not smile.
"Or, we can tell Scott that Horatio died, then have a little funeral for him."
"Funeral," Peggy said.
And it was decided.
I called Scott in from outside where he had been examining the trees in the back yard, trying to find one good for a tree-house.
He took Horatio’s death in stride.
He cried, like children will, but he seemed excited about the prospect of a burial. It was something NEW and NEW, in his 6 year old mind, meant FUN.
He rushed off to get an old cigar style crayon box. He put some of the rocks from Horatio’s tank in it, then Horatio, and he picked a spot in the garden, close to the juvenile tomato plants, to burry him.
We each said a few words over him.
"Horatio was a good fish." I said. "I knew it just as soon as the lady handed him to us at the carnival. And he didn’t smell bad or make messes like some animals do. I’ll miss him."
Peggy said, "I remember when we first put him in the fish tank, and he got stuck against the filter. He flapped and flapped so hard and it was scary, but it was funny to because he looked so silly."
When it was Scott’s turn he stood for a long time looking down at the lump of dirt that used to be his fish.
"Bye-bye Horatio," he said then looked up at me and said, "Mommy, can we get a puppy dog now?"
It must be nice to be so young, when grief can be so fleeting.
posted by Noner | 8:19 AM
4 Comments:
I like this. Are you posting her for critique or just for general viewing? Just curious.
Nona:
I am detecting a 'death' element in your stories. Is that a coinicidence? :)
I like your writing style.
Dave
Thanks Lisa.
I post mainly for general viewing, but I always enjoy feedback. Alot of my work is still pretty rough, but I'm always willing to accept a critique and make efforts to fix my mistakes.
Dave, a lot of what I write does revolve around death in one way or another. So does most of what I read. My father calls me Morbid becasue of it. -smile-
I'm glad you enjoy it.
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