i want to be a fish but i’m afraid i’ll get an ugly tank

Charlotte Loesch

part one - the fish

the oldest animal currently in captivity is a tortoise named jonathan who lives at an animal rescue center on st. helena’s island in the southern atlantic ocean. jonathan is 191 years old. okay, grandpa!

the youngest animal currently in captivity is, statistically, a tamarin monkey born during the time it took you to finish reading this sentence. (i made that up but for all intents and purposes, let’s continue).

when i was eight years old i got my first pet: a small orange goldfish. my sister wanted to name the fish something gay like “goldy” or “sparkles”, but i was the one who stole the fish out of the fat kid’s basket at pet smart so we both decided that i would get to name it.

after much thought and consideration, i decided to name our new pet after my favorite actor at the time: jason segel.

when we got home, we put jason segel on a shelf in our room and watched him bang his head into the glass over

and over

and over again.

much to my surprise, the fish didn’t like it when i poured diet coke in the tank to see if it would get him high.

he died shortly after.

i was racked with guilt.

i had killed jason segel.

part two – zoology

for a large portion of my childhood i wanted to be a zoologist. to be clear, this was before I knew what being zoologist was but i had overheard a grocer at safeway say it one time (for some reason) and i liked the way it rolled off her tongue so i just kinda went with it.

regardless of my “alleged” lack of knowledge about zoology,

i’ve always felt a strange

cosmic

almost holy connection to it.

like the bond between an old white man and the three hundred dollar dinghy parked in his driveway that hasn’t moved since 1976: i loved zoology, and i would never let my bitch wife helen take that away from me.

i remember the first time i spelled the word correctly enough so that google could understand what my chubby, chicken greased eight year old fingers were trying to say:

“zoology: the scientific study of the behavior, structure, physiology, classification, and distribution of animals.”

huh.

thought there would be a little more flair.

what’s with all the buzzkill words? physiology? what the hell? am i at school right now? this sucks.

i pressed the text to speech button over

over

and over again.

it never sounded right. i think i liked the way the grocery lady said it better. or maybe i just liked her.

part three – prelude

three years ago i got a plus one invite to the popular kid’s trip to the zoo. i went cuz i was bored and it was tuesday and what else was i gonna do, go to class? in college? yeah, right, don’t make me laugh.

i didn’t know anyone except my friend, tara. tara was kind of a bitch and miserable and a horrible person to be around but she bought me edibles so we were chill i guess.

before we walked in the gates, tara grabbed me by the shoulders and told me, “have fun”. i looked at her, “okay?”.

she grabbed my shoulders tighter and touched our noses together. i could smell her essence juicy bomb lipgloss. she wore the same peach flavor ever since 8th grade when a man on the street told her she had DSL. i don’t know why she did that.

she told me again, “have fun? okay?”. it was at that moment when i realized there was probably a reason why the heart-shaped cherry gummies i ate on the way over tasted like shit. I should have known.

i hate you, tara. i hate you, tara. kiss me, tara. while our noses are still close. while no one is watching.

my head’s getting hot. fuck. i wonder what’s going on in econ.

part four - the zoo

it hit me while i was in the reptile exhibit. everything was chill until one of the garter snakes started cussing me out so i had to get the fuck out of there.

next stop was the red pandas.

as i sat down on a cold bench watching a bunch of preteens take selfies with the red pandas i couldn’t help but notice the small, gray spotted pigeon perched on the trashcan next to me.

for those of you who are unfamiliar - the plight of the standard american homing pigeon is, canonically, very sad.

in world war I and world war II homing pigeons were bred as agents of war, taking covert pictures and sending secret messages across enemy lines.

they were smart - capable - the only birds up to the task.

unfortunately, after world war II, there was no more use for them so the united states government released tens of thousands of highly trained war veteran pigeons into the public to live on their own.

and now, as i sat on a cold bench next to preteens filming tiktoks with red pandas, i watched as a former member of the u.s. military picked sixteen dollar lightly salted popcorn out of a trash can.

i almost started to cry.

not only was this veteran severely deprived of his rights after active duty, he was the only animal in the entire zoo that didn’t have a name.

if i stood up and walked ten feet in any direction i could learn the name, age, height, species, favorite food and celebrity crush of animals from across the globe.

animals that i don’t see in my backyard.

animals that i might never see again in my whole life.

and yet, here sits my neighbor.

a pigeon.

nameless, homeless, aimless.

i wanted to cry.

i wanted to ask him his name. i wanted to ask if he’s really from new york or new jersey like i imagine all pigeons are for some reason.

i wanted to ask him if he likes sesame bagels.

if he takes long walks in the park when he’s feeling sad.

if he has kids, grandkids, friends, enemies.

i wanted to ask him if he’s been to the statue of liberty.

what the views are like from a hundred feet above.

if we look small from so far away.

if he can even see us at all.

but i didn’t ask him any questions because out of the corner of my eye i could see tara smiling at the red pandas. i could tell she thought she was alone because she never smiled. i liked it when she did.

i looked back at the pigeon. i cried. i wonder what stories lay beneath those beady little soldier eyes.

i took a step closer but i guess my sudden movement must have spooked him because the second i moved, his legs were already three feet off the ground. i watched as it flew away.

i looked at a red panda.

i looked at the preteens - seems like their tik tok came out well.

i looked at the red panda again.

her name was lala. she was four years old. her mom was from china but lala was born at the zoo. i smiled at her. i’m not sure if there was a glare in the glass but she didn’t smile back.

i looked up at the pigeon, now a small dot in the endless sky.

i swear i saw him wave.

charlotte loesch is a virginia-born screenwriter & poetess who recently earned her BFA in keepin’ it real. she loves diet coke, swimming in large bodies of water, and frustrating her conservative family members. you can follow her @charlo1320 on insta and substack.