The Puffer Fish

Based on a true story.

 

 

          Blanche searched through her closet, hardly seeing what she was looking at. Her mother had said that she didn’t have to worry too much about what she wore; as long as it was black, to show respect.

          Though she had hardly ever thought of it before, Blanche didn’t really understand why you had to wear black to a funeral. It seemed so grim and morbid, and so unnecessary. Suddenly, though, that all seemed to change. All the bright colors in her closet and room now seemed blurred, and almost painful to look at. Any other color just didn’t feel right anymore.

          Two days ago, Blanche found out that her grandfather had died. When she stepped through the door after walking home from school she saw her mother talking quietly on the phone at the kitchen table. Immediately, she knew something was wrong. She stood and listened to her mother pass the news on to her father, and didn't move. When the receiver was finally put down, Blanche had still not closed the door. Her mother came up to embrace her, and still she did not move.

          Blanche’s mind crawled slowly back to the present. She realized her hand had been resting on something hanging in front of her for a long time. She pulled it out a little further and saw it was a black sweater, from the farthest corner of her closet, that had clearly never been worn. Slowly, Blanche put it over her brightly colored shirt, then made her way downstairs.

          “Are you ready, honey?” said her mother, who was waiting at the table in the kitchen.

          Blanche nodded.

          Her mother led her to the door. The car was already started with her father waiting inside. Blanche got in the backseat.

          “Blanche?” said her mother gently.

          “Yes?”

          For some reason, Blanche’s eyes began to burn. Her voice felt like it had been buried deep in her throat, and it was painful to bring back up. She was just too tired, everything took so much energy.

          “Before we go, if there’s anything you’d like to bring…” she hesitated. “Do you want to bring anything to leave there? Something small to give him?”

          Her mind worked slowly.

          “No,” she answered quietly, hardly more than moving her lips. The words seemed so far away, and talking churned her stomach in such an unpleasant way. She leaned her head against the window. Everything felt so heavy.

          The ocean appeared along side them as they drove. Seeing it, Blanche’s head immediately cooled. For a moment, she felt relaxed, looking at the glittering ocean her grandfather loved. Nearly every day he would go out on long walks over the sand, carrying bits of bread for birds, and a paper bag for shells. There was a bench he would sit on for hours at a time, just looking out at the waves.

           He almost always had a new story to tell Blanche whenever she came to visit, but there was one that always stuck with her.

           Before she was born, he told her, he caught a puffer fish from the ocean. Since he had only been fishing right off the shore, he hadn’t been expecting it at all. But there it was all the same, as though it had been looking for a line to get caught on. He felt bad for it, lying so calmly even though it was plainly still trying to breathe. It was a beautiful deep brown color like wet sand on a beach. He knelt in the sand and they stared at each other. Her grandfather swore those couldn’t have been fish eyes gazing up at him. For a second, the rest of the world was gone, and he was looking at all the oceans of the world, soaring through them. Then the puffer fish died, and its eyes were like any other fish’s eyes again. Her grandfather said it felt like he had just fallen out of the sky.

          Blanche would ask to hear the story nearly every time she came to visit. It always ended with an explanation on how he decided to preserve it, so that he could always remember the day he first saw it. The puffer fish had been on display at the top of the stairs for as long as she could remember. It would always be there, safely sitting in the very back of a hollow in the wall. Blanche used to stare at it for nearly ten minutes at a time and wonder what exactly her grandfather had seen. She tried her hardest to see it herself, but as she got older all she could see, and ever tried to see, was a big, round fish in the wall that was dead. Even now, she was beginning to think that it had really just been a story, and he had only told it to entertain a child.

          The time spent at the funeral was a blur. All she could remember were the faces covered in tissues, and how she had used up so many that her eyes and nose stung. Then seeing her grandfather and thinking for a moment that all she needed to do was touch his shoulder and he would wake…

         

          Though it was a rather long drive, Blanche seemed to suddenly find herself at her grandfather’s house again. Everyone stayed in the kitchen while she moved on into the living room to be alone. The sun shown warmly through the window, lighting up the room; but despite everything around her being familiar, Blanche felt like a stranger. Memories were flooding into her head no matter how she tried to make them stop, and she began to shiver as though cold.

          Laughter came from the kitchen, it was her aunt.

          “…all the time, didn’t he?”

          “Oh, she loved that story…” her mother said very quietly. “I saw it upstairs, it’s a beautiful fish.”

          “He really caught it?”

          “I don’t know.”

          Blanche listened to the conversation a while and didn’t like the way they talked about the story, like it was just a story. It felt too personal, especially after she had wanted it to be real. More chuckling came from the kitchen, then they all sighed.

          Blanche stood up suddenly, making herself dizzy. She walked slowly to the stairs and stopped at the bottom one.

          A strange feeling began to rise in her stomach, and her mind felt cloudy. It took Blanche a while to realize what was happening – she was afraid. She was afraid to go up and look at the puffer fish. No matter how foolish she knew it was, she felt it would somehow seem like looking into her grandfather’s face again, and Blanche didn’t think she could handle that now that he was gone. She tore her eyes from the steps and began walking heavily back to her chair. Then she heard something.

          A loud thump came from the stairs, then a series of smaller thumps as something rolled down them. When the sounds had stopped, Blanche went back to the foot of the stairs and looked at what had fallen.

          There, on the ground, was the puffer fish. It was lying on it’s side and, delicate as it was, did not look as though it had just fallen down a flight of steps. Blanche looked around and waited for someone to come in and ask what had happened, but somehow no one had heard anything. It’s eyes were staring up at the ceiling, and Blanche looked down at them.

          The rest of the world disappeared for a moment, and she soared through those blue eyes that were so much like her grandfather’s, and felt exactly like waves crashing on the beach. Her grandfather wasn’t gone, he was wherever he wanted to be. Blanche took the puffer fish and returned it to its stand, then smiled in spite of herself.

Author's Note

Did I get all the right emotions across?

Reviews

[Alexander Fox]

Gave me chills. Your a talented storyteller. I don't love stories nearly as much as I should, being terrible at telling them myself. I always get......lost in the sea of words. I think years of mandatory reading projects took their toll on my personality, sadly.

[Blade & Blood (The ..]

Emotions were perfect. You seem to be pretty gifted with describing how a person feels inside; almost anyone can relate to the feelings you display in this story, so you don't have to worry too much. :) This is a really neat story. It contains those real contents that everyone loves to read about. ;)

Ironically and Eternally Yours, Blade and Blood (aka Jasmine)

[Shawna Lea]

This was a really sweet story. It brought back memories of when my grandmother died when I was 11. The only thing I wanted was this ring holder shaped like a hand. I use to hold it when I was younger and aske her about it. I still have it sitting on a shelf in my room.

I think you hit all the right emotions. Very powerful story.