Skittles, the fish of wonders
So, I promised I'd tell you the Skittles story. I have told this story many times, and it keeps getting funnier to the people who hear it.
Mom and Dad bought me a blue Siamese fighting fish when I was nine years old. I was thrilled; this was my first actual fish pet sans the goldfish I'd won at the age of five at the state fair (which, by the way, died five days later, leading to Dad's first talk to me about the reality of death). (I named him Skittles after my favorite candy of all time, just to clarify.)
We traveled quite a bit back and forth from where were stationed at Fort Polk, Louisiana to my grandparents' house in South Carolina, about a 16-hour drive each way. On one particular occasion (Thanksgiving, I'm fairly sure), Mom and Dad told me I could bring Skittles along. Not sure why....perhaps they thought he'd keep me entertained in the backseat so I wouldn't ask so many questions!! Ha!
I packed him up in his little bowl (forcing him to leave his spacious aquarium for a while), and packed his fish flakes (not much is needed for pet fish on the road!). All went well on the trip there, and also while visiting Grandma and Grandpa. The road trip home, though, was a different story.
We thought we'd try to make it in one straight journey in order for Dad to have an extra day at home before returning to work (we usually stopped halfway to spend the night in a hotel). Dad loaded up on coffee, and Mom, Emily and I settled in for a nap. I had found a way that I could twist and turn so that I was lying down from torso-up, head next to Emily's carseat, all the while mainting the safety confines of my seatbelt. I guess I was a lot more limber back then. Skittles rested on the floorboard beneath me.
I woke up suddenly to a loud thump. Loud doesn't do it justice. In my dreams, it sounded like an explosion. I blinked in the darkness. I heard Mom scream. I heard Dad mutter, "Oh, maaaan." "What!? What!?" Mom exclaimed back. "We just hit a deer."
Tears filled my eyes. My worst fear. "Is it.....dead?" I asked. "Probably so," Dad said apologetically. "She just walked out in front of me."
We had to put aside the sadness over the deer at that point and worry about our van. A scraping sound with sparks ensued until we slowed down to a stop on the median. A pick-up truck pulled over behind us. We sat there, stunned, until the driver came to Dad's window. "Ya'll alright?" he said with a slow, Southern drawl. I looked at the clock....1:30 a.m. What were these other people doing out on the road?
"Yep," Dad answered. He got out and walked around our van with the stranger, observing the damage. He told Dad we'd better not try to finish the trip home; part of our bumper was dragging the ground. Dad said that Meridian, Mississippi was about 40 minutes away, so we decided to attempt that at a slower speed so that we could check into a hotel. "Good luck," the man ended with saying. "And if you don't want it, I'm gonna go back and get 'er for the meat." Dad gave him a nod, then Mom and I both shuddered. Ew.
When Dad opened his door, the overhead light came on and I glanced downwards. The bowl....the water.....Skittles!! "Dad!" I yelled. "Skittles is gone!!" We looked frantically for my lost fish. The bowl had overturned in the upset, and he was not within sight. Finally, Dad spotted him. He was floundering around feverishly on the floorboard of the driver's side. Heavens knows how he made it up there. He was obviously freaking out for lack of oxygen.
"Grab him!" I screamed, crying at the same time. Dad awkwardly grabbed at the slippery, flipping fish. Skittles just couldn't be grasped. Finally, Dad had him in one hand, and he plopped him into my awaiting bowl. He looked back down at his hand. "Um, I think I pulled off part of his fin."
I peered at Skittles, and sure enough, part of his dorsal fin was stuck to Dad's hand. I screamed. "He'll be okay, Meg. The main thing is to keep that bowl tilted so he can live until we get to the hotel."
I indeed had to tilt the bowl at an angle to give Skittles as much of the 3 tablespoons of water as he could get to breathe. I worried about how much life he had left...I worried about shocking him with water too cold once at the hotel.
Long story short, Skittles did make it to Meridian. He made it to the hotel faucet, and the water saved his life.
Yet he always swam a little bit crooked after that incident, for his dorsal fin never did regenerate itself.
Mom and Dad bought me a blue Siamese fighting fish when I was nine years old. I was thrilled; this was my first actual fish pet sans the goldfish I'd won at the age of five at the state fair (which, by the way, died five days later, leading to Dad's first talk to me about the reality of death). (I named him Skittles after my favorite candy of all time, just to clarify.)
We traveled quite a bit back and forth from where were stationed at Fort Polk, Louisiana to my grandparents' house in South Carolina, about a 16-hour drive each way. On one particular occasion (Thanksgiving, I'm fairly sure), Mom and Dad told me I could bring Skittles along. Not sure why....perhaps they thought he'd keep me entertained in the backseat so I wouldn't ask so many questions!! Ha!
I packed him up in his little bowl (forcing him to leave his spacious aquarium for a while), and packed his fish flakes (not much is needed for pet fish on the road!). All went well on the trip there, and also while visiting Grandma and Grandpa. The road trip home, though, was a different story.
We thought we'd try to make it in one straight journey in order for Dad to have an extra day at home before returning to work (we usually stopped halfway to spend the night in a hotel). Dad loaded up on coffee, and Mom, Emily and I settled in for a nap. I had found a way that I could twist and turn so that I was lying down from torso-up, head next to Emily's carseat, all the while mainting the safety confines of my seatbelt. I guess I was a lot more limber back then. Skittles rested on the floorboard beneath me.
I woke up suddenly to a loud thump. Loud doesn't do it justice. In my dreams, it sounded like an explosion. I blinked in the darkness. I heard Mom scream. I heard Dad mutter, "Oh, maaaan." "What!? What!?" Mom exclaimed back. "We just hit a deer."
Tears filled my eyes. My worst fear. "Is it.....dead?" I asked. "Probably so," Dad said apologetically. "She just walked out in front of me."
We had to put aside the sadness over the deer at that point and worry about our van. A scraping sound with sparks ensued until we slowed down to a stop on the median. A pick-up truck pulled over behind us. We sat there, stunned, until the driver came to Dad's window. "Ya'll alright?" he said with a slow, Southern drawl. I looked at the clock....1:30 a.m. What were these other people doing out on the road?
"Yep," Dad answered. He got out and walked around our van with the stranger, observing the damage. He told Dad we'd better not try to finish the trip home; part of our bumper was dragging the ground. Dad said that Meridian, Mississippi was about 40 minutes away, so we decided to attempt that at a slower speed so that we could check into a hotel. "Good luck," the man ended with saying. "And if you don't want it, I'm gonna go back and get 'er for the meat." Dad gave him a nod, then Mom and I both shuddered. Ew.
When Dad opened his door, the overhead light came on and I glanced downwards. The bowl....the water.....Skittles!! "Dad!" I yelled. "Skittles is gone!!" We looked frantically for my lost fish. The bowl had overturned in the upset, and he was not within sight. Finally, Dad spotted him. He was floundering around feverishly on the floorboard of the driver's side. Heavens knows how he made it up there. He was obviously freaking out for lack of oxygen.
"Grab him!" I screamed, crying at the same time. Dad awkwardly grabbed at the slippery, flipping fish. Skittles just couldn't be grasped. Finally, Dad had him in one hand, and he plopped him into my awaiting bowl. He looked back down at his hand. "Um, I think I pulled off part of his fin."
I peered at Skittles, and sure enough, part of his dorsal fin was stuck to Dad's hand. I screamed. "He'll be okay, Meg. The main thing is to keep that bowl tilted so he can live until we get to the hotel."
I indeed had to tilt the bowl at an angle to give Skittles as much of the 3 tablespoons of water as he could get to breathe. I worried about how much life he had left...I worried about shocking him with water too cold once at the hotel.
Long story short, Skittles did make it to Meridian. He made it to the hotel faucet, and the water saved his life.
Yet he always swam a little bit crooked after that incident, for his dorsal fin never did regenerate itself.
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