‘Koi Conversations’ by VA Wiswell

Part I: Chasing Dirt

A hole is in the eye of the beholder.

If you keep digging that hole, you’ll end up like one of those kids trapped in a well.

What?

See. You can’t even hear me—the hole.

What about it?

STOP digging.

Is that what you came out here to tell me, Gina?

No, I brought you some water. And your mother called. She needs you to go over.

Now?

Yes.

Why?

I didn’t ask for the specifics—something to do with your dad again.

Great. Just what I needed to do today.

Rick, you’re knee-deep in dirt. Might be time for a break.

*

Part II: Old, On The Edge of Something New

If I’d known how short life was, I would’ve started living a lot sooner.

Hi, Gina.

Hey, stranger. Haven’t seen you in a while.

I was passing by. Sorry to stop in unannounced.

Don’t be. I’m glad for the interruption. A person can only take so much weeding.

I’m letting my yard go natural. I tell myself it’s best for the environment. Really, I’m just lazy.

Sounds like a good plan. I might follow.

Anyway, I’ve been meaning to return this. I keep forgetting to put it in the truck.

What is it?

Your casserole dish. The one you brought over when—

It is?                                                         

Yup. You sound suspicious.

It’s just—I don’t even recognize it.

Do you think I’m running some kind of grift that involves returning casserole dishes to the wrong people?

Ha. That’d be odd. Though funny.

Yeah, well, I’m not. But I’ve had it for over a year. Maybe you’ve forgotten what it looks like.

Or maybe it’s one I never use and wouldn’t miss if it wasn’t returned.

Makes sense. Also makes you a bit of a cynic. I hope I’ve restored your faith in humanity by returning it.

That might be going a bit far, Ed. You did have it for over a year.

True. Eighteen months, actually.

Wow. It doesn’t—

I know, but it is—this week.

Jesus. It seems—is that what made you think about it, the casserole dish?

Maybe. I don’t know if I’m ever not thinking about it—Elaine, I mean, not your dish.

I got that.

I was heading to town—figured there was no time like the present, and before I forget again.

Town? On a Saturday at six-thirty? Dressed in khakis and a button-down? Are you—

I am. At least, I’m sure as hell going to try.

Good for you.

How do I look, by the way? Like I bussed in from 1985? Elaine bought all my clothes. I don’t have a clue.

Harry Styles would be jealous.

Harry who?

Exactly. You look great. Can I ask who you’re meeting?

Uh, not yet. Let me survive one dinner first.

Okay, but promise you’ll keep me in the loop.

If you don’t hear about it on the news, first.

Hey, think positive—you might even have fun.

I’ll settle for not a complete disaster.

Hang in there. It will get easier.

I don’t know, Gina. Twenty-three years is a long time. I’m not sure I’m up for trying.

Elaine would want you to. Besides, what other option is there?

*

Part III: A Bathtub Rowboat

So many things go missing, but none are lost until we notice they’re gone.

Rick, why do you look like that? You’re filthy.

Thanks, Ma. I was working in the yard. Gina said you needed me?

You could’ve showered first. Or at least changed.

Do you need me or not?

Your father needs you.

Where is he?

The bathroom. Again.

Jesus Christ.

No point in asking him for help, believe me.

Why do you let him go in there?

The bathroom? Gee, I wonder.

How bad is it?

The water’s leaking into the kitchen again.

Jesus Christ.

Like I said, he’s not coming.

Dad, it’s me. Come on out.

I’m taking a bath, Rick. Leave me alone.

Unlock the door.

I said I’m in the bath.

I know. I can see the water leaking into the kitchen. Bath’s over. Come out.

I’ll be out when I’m done.

Dad, turn off the water.

It is off.

I can hear it running. Open the drain and turn it off.

It’s off, I said.

Do I need to get my tools and take down the door?

Why can’t I get any peace around here? I just want to take a bath.

Turn off the water. Or—

Happy now, Rick? I’m out.

Dad, please, a towel!

Now you’re pissed I bathe naked. What’s next? Is my breathing too much for you?

Just open the drain. I’ve got work to do at home.

Don’t complain to me. I didn’t drag you here. That’s your mother’s deal. Yell at her.

If you don’t want Ma calling me, next time, remember to turn the water off, or better yet, don’t take another bath—shower like the rest of us.

I like the bath. It’s relaxing—a privilege of retirement.

Dad, the drain.

There. It’s open. Satisfied? Now you can go back to whatever you have going at home.

Is he out?

Yeah, Ma, but he’ll be back at it tomorrow. It isn’t going to get better. You know what his doctor said. Waiting for what he does next isn’t a plan.

I can hear you. The two of you talking about me like I’m dead or worse, five.

Dad—

What? Am I wrong? Rick, go home. You shouldn’t have come. Your mother’s overreacting—again. I’m starting to think she’s trying to get rid of me.

If I wanted to get rid of you, Lou, you’d be gone.

Ha! Ain’t that the truth.

Ma, we need to talk. Figure this out.

We will, Rick. Just not today.

*

Part IV: Late First Date

The last time we kissed, you were a Democrat.

What about this one, Kye—forgiving around the waist but not too frumpy?

Ugh…Meg Ryan 1994.

True. Okay, here, this one?

Hard no. Stevie Nicks, Bella Donna.

I love Stevie.

Me, too, but Ed’s conservative. I don’t want to scare him off by showing up looking like I’m part of a coven.

I don’t think he’s that uptight. I remember him doing his fair share of partying.

That was back when we were all liberal Democrats.

Thanks. Now I feel old. Here we go. This one’s a winner.

Uh… Courtney Love, post-grunge?

It’s a little black dress. Timeless. Like us.

If you say so, Viv, but do I still have the arms for it?

Only one way to find out—here.

I don’t know. It’s pretty bold—lots of skin… and cleavage.

It looks great.

You think?

With some heels, it will be killer.

Why did I agree to this—a date with my high school crush? Going backward never works out.

You’re going out with one of the few single, sober men left in this closing clamshell of a town. And, besides, what asshole said you can’t go back? It’s 2023. You can go anywhere you want.

That’s just it, Viv. Ed’s not single. He’s a widower.

Whatever the details, he doesn’t have a wife. That’s what matters.

Wow. Cold.

Am I right?

Being a widower is completely different. I can compete with an ex-partner. They have flaws. They’re awful, at least in memory. But a ghost? Especially Elaine’s? Alive, she was practically a saint. Dead, she’s a deity. That’s stiff competition. No pun intended.

You might be exaggerating a tad.

I don’t think so.

I remember you and Ed having a serious thing for each other. He was as into you as you were him. You would have gotten together senior year if Jimmy hadn’t screwed it up.

Please, no Jimmy talk. I’m still having nightmares about our divorce.

Sorry. Look, I’m not saying Elaine wasn’t great. Or that their marriage wasn’t great. But that doesn’t mean what the two of you had wasn’t real.

Maybe.

Maybe, Kye, this isn’t you going back as much as it is you going with the flow.

Hand me the strappy black heels.

*

Part V. Swimming With The Fish

The past is infinite. The present is fleeting. The future is your imagination.

Rick? Is that you?

Who else has the front door key?

You’re back sooner than usual.

You sound disappointed.

I was enjoying the silence. The shovel banging into rocks gets a little old.

Funny.

Was everything okay with your parents? Your dad?

He was in the tub again. Eyeballs deep in water, oblivious. And when you call him on it, he gets defensive. Like he didn’t drift off or forget, or whatever happens.

So, you got him out. Disaster averted?

Until next time.

You mean tomorrow?

Right. And Ma won’t talk about it. She’s as bad as Dad when it comes to reality. At least he has an excuse.

They’ve been together since high school. Your dad is her world, and now he’s slipping away. She’s dealing with a lot.

I hate it too, but still. He’s going to flood them out or burn the place down. It won’t get better.

She’ll get there in time. Try to be patient.

This is me being patient.

Oh, right. So, changing the subject, what’s the deal with the hole? You’ve been digging it for a week.

Now you’re curious? You’ve been ignoring it since I started.

I hoped you’d stop, that it was a phase, but it’s clearly not. So, what’s your plan? Or is it just a hole?

No, it’s not just a hole.

Then, what? Do you need to hide something? Stolen money? A body? I need to know. Otherwise, I might blow your cover when the neighbours start asking questions.

We don’t have neighbours unless you count Mr. Peterson, a half mile down the road.

Come on, out with it. Why the hole?

Fish.

Huh?

Koi. A Koi pond.

Really?

That surprised?

No, well, yes. Kind of. I’ve wanted a Koi pond for years. You’ve always said no—too much work, money; it will bring the raccoons and the crows…. sound familiar?

Yeah, yeah.

So, what changed?

You can’t just shrug, Rick. There’s a big friggin’ hole in our yard.

You got sick.

What?

You heard me.

That was two years ago. I’ve been in remission for over a year.

What can I say? I’m a slow processor.

Seriously?

What? That’s the truth.

Explain, please.

I’ve been thinking about it for a while—since you were diagnosed.

Again, two years ago. Why now?

I didn’t want it to seem like I was giving in or was okay with it—you being sick. 

And? Because you know tomorrow everything might be back. I might be sick all over again.

I can’t change what might happen, so I’m focusing on the present. You wanted a pond; you’re getting a pond.

That’s…

What?

Sweet? I guess. I don’t know what to say.

Say thanks.

Okay. Thanks.

You’re welcome.

But the endless shovelling is still annoying.

---

VA Wiswell’s work has appeared in Writing In A Woman’s Voice, The Lake, Smoky Blue Literary and Arts Magazine, 34^th Parallel Magazine, and OJA & L Magazine. She has poems and short stories forthcoming in Ignatian Literary Magazine, Sad Girls Literary Magazine, and Ginosko Literary Journal. You can find her on Instagram at @vawiswell.