Chapter 3 — Fish
And thus begins Chapter Three.
Now, children.
Aquarium.
I arrived.
I entered.
And let us calibrate expectations immediately.
This was Trivandrum Zoo.
Not some globally acclaimed aquatic temple.
No vast glass tunnel.
No sharks gliding majestically over my head.
No Discovery Channel spectacle.
No giant blue cathedral where whales whisper to tourists through acrylic walls.
Children.
There were tanks.
Small ones.
Many of them.
And inside?
Fish.
The council nods.
Excellent aquarium design.
Small fish.
Big fish.
Colourful fish.
Bland fish.
Fish shaped like arrows.
Fish shaped like pebbles.
Fish doing absolutely nothing.
Fish behaving as if they personally owned the water.
All kinds.
And children
it was delightful.
Especially while stoned.
The council sighs.
Because apparently a fish does not simply remain a fish once THC enters the equation.
No.
It becomes
a philosopher.
A warrior.
A misunderstood prince.
A deeply suspicious accountant.
A creature carrying ancient secrets from before mankind crawled out of the ocean and started inventing taxes.
The council watches.
I stood before one tank.
Mesmerized.
Two fish swam beside each other.
Children.
Clearly racing.
The council raises a finger.
Or courting.
No.
Racing.
One pulled ahead.
The other followed.
Rivalry.
Years of resentment.
A bitter childhood feud.
Perhaps they trained for this.
Perhaps their fathers had raced before them.
The council looks concerned.
Then one turned.
Narrative revised.
Maybe lovers.
Forbidden lovers.
Separated by incompatible spawning regions.
The council sighs.
This is why museums do not provide marijuana with admission.
Another fish hovered near the glass.
Its mouth repeatedly opening against the tank wall.
Suck.
Release.
Suck.
Release.
Children.
This creature had a past.
I knew it immediately.
Was it cleaning the glass?
Eating algae?
Doing some normal biological fish activity?
Irrelevant.
Backstory assigned.
Perhaps he had grown tired of aquatic society.
Perhaps the others mocked him.
Perhaps he believed the glass contained a portal.
Perhaps he had spent years attempting escape,
one microscopic kiss at a time.
The council watches the fish.
He is literally just eating.
You lack imagination.
And so it went.
Tank after tank.
Colour.
Movement.
Pattern.
Tiny fins.
Big fins.
Strange faces.
Fish that looked permanently annoyed.
Fish that looked bewildered to have been born.
Children.
Every one of them triggered:
Wawww.
Not “wow.”
Wawww.
Longer.
More spiritual.
The council nods.
Scientific distinction.
I would stand before a tank
and the rest of the room simply
disappeared.
Families?
Gone.
Children?
Gone.
Footsteps?
Gone.
Other visitors?
Irrelevant.
All attention collapsed into several litres of water
and whatever tiny civilisation was currently unfolding behind glass.
The council grows quiet.
This is one of my favourite things about being completely absorbed.
The world loses its edges.
Not because it stops existing.
Because attention becomes so narrow that everything outside it goes blurry.
And children,
at that moment,
my universe was fish.
One tank.
Several creatures.
Internal documentary narration fully operational.
Then
voice.
“Bro, you high too?”
Silence.
The council freezes.
I turned left.
And there
girl.
Eyes red.
Very red.
Children.
The kind of red that does not require forensic investigation.
She was also
completely stoned.
The council looks between us.
Recognition?
Instant.
Apparently marijuana users possess an ancient field identification system.
One look.
Eyes.
Expression.
The slightly delayed relationship with reality.
And
bro?
I considered the question.
“Uh huh.”
The council laughs.
A robust exchange of information.
She nodded.
I nodded.
And then
we both turned back to the tank.
Children.
That was it.
No introduction.
No:
Hi, I’m
No handshake.
No attempt to establish occupation,
college,
hometown,
mutual connections,
or whether either of us were potentially dangerous.
We simply stood there.
Watching fish.
The council nods.
And then one of us said:
“Look at them racing.”
The other
“No, they’re lovers.”
Silence.
Children.
Conflict.
Immediate.
“They’re not lovers.”
“They are.”
“They’re clearly racing.”
“Why would fish race?”
“Why would fish fall in love?”
The council becomes invested.
Excellent question.
And just like that
friendship.
Not built over months.
Not negotiated.
Not tested.
Children.
Instant.
Two strangers.
Two stoned brains.
One tank.
Competing fish lore.
One fish darts ahead.
“See? Racing.”
“No. He’s chasing her.”
“Rival.”
“Lover.”
“Enemy.”
“Soulmate.”
The council bangs the table.
DECIDE.
Never.
That was the fun.
Every movement generated a new argument.
One fish hid behind something.
Clearly plotting murder.
Or shy.
Another remained alone in one corner.
Deep thinker.
Or asshole.
Another kept following the same path around the tank.
Routine driven citizen.
Possibly married with three thousand eggs.
Children.
We built lives for them.
Whole personalities.
Relationship histories.
Motives.
Political alliances.
The aquarium became less:
observe aquatic species.
And more:
improvise an underwater soap opera.
The council approves.
Educational.
Extremely.
And the strangest part?
It did not feel strange.
The conversation flowed immediately.
No awkward introduction.
No small talk.
No need to find common ground.
Common ground existed inside the tank.
Or common water.
The council groans.
Mandatory.
Yes.
Children.
Sometimes conversation is difficult because you’re searching for the correct doorway.
With this stranger?
Door already open.
Fish.
That was enough.
And eventually,
there remained one unresolved matter.
Her name.
The council leans forward.
What was it?
Bro.
Silence.
Her government name?
Unknown.
Did I ask?
No.
Did she ask mine?
No.
Children.
Why involve the government?
The council laughs.
We had no administrative purpose.
No forms to complete.
No emergency contacts.
No need to issue certificates.
Therefore
government names unnecessary.
She called me:
Bro.
I called her:
Bro.
Perfectly functional naming system.
The council updates the Archive.
NEW CHARACTER:
Bro.
Gender?
Girl.
Actual name?
Irrelevant.
Designation?
Bro.
Children.
This might be one of the cleanest Ancient Naming System outcomes yet.
Usually I assign names based on visual traits.
Hat Guy.
Ribbon Girl.
Blue.
Green.
Stalker named herself.
But Bro?
Mutual agreement.
Neither party proposed it.
It simply manifested.
“Bro.”
“Bro.”
Done.
The council nods.
Diplomatic relations established.
And there we stood.
Two people who had arrived separately.
Both apparently high.
Both fascinated beyond reason by fish.
Arguing over whether two tiny aquatic creatures were competitors
or deeply in love.
Children.
I had been inside my first aquarium for perhaps
not long.
And already,
a stranger had joined the Wandering.
Not invited.
Not sought.
No social department required.
No Hex.
No friend introduction.
No shared group.
Nothing.
Just:
“Bro, you high too?”
“Uh huh.”
Friendship.
The council smiles.
Efficient.
And perhaps the funniest part was that we never broke the spell to become normal people.
No one suddenly said:
“So what do you do?”
No resume exchange.
No hometown interrogation.
No:
Are you here with someone?
Children.
Fish.
That was sufficient biography.
We moved to another tank.
Or perhaps stayed at that one longer.
The exact transition does not matter.
What matters is
Bro was now there.
Beside me.
Both of us watching.
Both of us narrating.
A colourful fish swam past.
“Wawww.”
“Wawww.”
The council nods.
Language at its highest form.
One might think two adults staring at a tiny aquarium tank while assigning romantic drama to fish is a waste of time.
Children.
Incorrect.
We were having fun.
There is no higher court.
The council approves.
And again
no correct way to experience a zoo.
Some people read every placard.
Good.
Some photograph everything.
Good.
Some bring children and teach them animal names.
Lovely.
Some move quickly.
Some slowly.
And apparently
some arrive stoned,
meet another stoned stranger,
name each other Bro,
and construct an unauthorized cinematic universe for aquarium fish.
Also valid.
The council stamps the file.
APPROVED.
Story Nuo was not thinking about any of this.
He was far too busy deciding whether Fish Number Three was betraying Fish Number Seven.
Important work.
But Present Nuo sees the pattern.
Curiosity opens strange little doors.
Sometimes behind the door
a place.
Sometimes
an animal.
Sometimes
a person you never would have met if you had obediently turned left at the sign.
The council pauses.
Ah.
Yes.
Had I followed the intended route first
perhaps Bro and I never intersect.
Different timing.
Different tank.
Different moment.
Children.
Tiny choices.
Right instead of left.
Dessert first.
Then:
“Bro, you high too?”
But we will not turn it into fate.
Maybe we would have met elsewhere.
Maybe not.
The Archive does not know.
What it knows is:
I went right.
Entered the aquarium.
Got lost inside fish philosophy.
And eventually
Bro appeared.
The council smiles.
No surname.
No backstory.
No government involvement.
Just Bro.
And perhaps that was exactly enough for the moment.
Thus concludes Chapter Three.
The Small Tanks.
The Many Fish.
The Wawww Protocol.
The Underwater Backstories.
The Racing Lovers.
The Glass Sucking Philosopher.
The Dissolution Of The Outside World.
The Red Eyed Stranger.
The Question:
“Bro, you high too?”
The Answer:
“Uh huh.”
And The Immediate Formation Of A Two Person Aquatic Philosophy Department.
Children.
I did not learn her name.
She did not learn mine.
We did not need them.
She was Bro.
I was Bro.
And somewhere behind the glass,
two fish continued racing.
Or falling in love.
We never reached consensus.
