Aquarium

My name suits me. Narin. It means delicate or fragile, which is exactly what I am. My parents, in the few times I’ve spoken to them, insist that the meaning is purely coincidental. But I still wonder if they changed it after the surgery. I don’t remember my life before, so I have no way to tell.

It’s been 13 years, to the day. 13 years of living in a glass prison. 13 years of feeling like a fish who is too big for her aquarium. 13 years of doctors with oxygen tanks and masks poking and prodding me, treating me like some formaldehyde-soaked specimen for them to study. To them, I’m nothing but a textbook article.

The girl who was allergic to oxygen.

Who could resist that?

Doctors have flocked to Ruston, Louisiana. Hopped on the first plane to the nearest airport, in Shreveport, just to have the prestige of treating the poor teenage girl who can’t breathe. They’ve made our small town famous, much to the chagrin of its residents. Or should I say I made the town famous.

I never wanted the attention, but it came anyways. A botched surgery left me unable to breathe oxygen, and just like that I had created a race for doctors across the country. It’s always been a game to them—they come for a few months, stick me with a few needles, and give up in frustration. Then the next competitor takes a turn. None of them care that I’m stuck in my own little aquarium with nothing but a bed, a treadmill, and twenty years worth of freeze-dried food pellets. Of course not. They just want their name in the books.

13 years, to the day.

I reluctantly get out of bed. I have no desire to get up. No will to take care of myself. Why should I, when the rest of my life will be spent in the same isolated way as it has for the last 13 years? All I do is swim around my aquarium, eat my food pellets, and watch the people outside the glass. I have no reason to live my life as a fish.

And I wouldn’t get up if I could help it. But thanks to the last doctor, in an attempt to keep me from depression, I’m stuck wearing a metal bracelet that stings me if I don’t get up by 9:00.

So I do get up, at 8:58. I swim through my daily routine. Ten minutes on the treadmill. Eat a breakfast portion of pellets. Brush through my never-been-cut chestnut hair. Ten more minutes on the treadmill.

Then I make my bed, sit on the edge, and stare through the glass. Watching the world go by without me.

I can really only see the trees. Tall pines and oak, with deep emerald leaves. Mostly still, with the occasional breeze or bit of pine straw falling. Sometimes, as a special treat, a squirrel or other animal will pass by. I enjoy their brief company, but they look at me the same way everyone else does. I’m an attraction, stuck behind a wall of glass for all the world to see. Just a little chestnut fish in her tiny aquarium.

I always face this direction. Three of my glass walls give me a clear view of the woods. I know I’ll never go out there, but that view gives me a tiny piece of reality. A little potted plant outside my fish tank. I loathe the fourth wall, the one behind me, which looks into the house itself. I don’t like to look through it, but sometimes I do simply because my parents hate it. They don’t like to see my face. They can’t avoid walking in front of the glass, but it makes them feel guilty when I stare back.

We wouldn’t want that.

I keep my eyes on the woods through the other wall. A cardinal flies by. He gives me the same pitying stare that my parents do. I hate it. So I bang on the glass, shouting for him to go away. He does.

“Narin.” My mother, behind the loathsome wall. I’m forbidden to look when she’s here, so I don’t.

“Yes?”

“Happy birthday.”

So it’s my birthday. 18th, I believe. I should have known—it’s one of the only days my mother talks to me each year. They hate me, both of my parents. They hate me because I make them feel guilty. They know that it’s their fault I’m locked up in here. Their fault the surgery happened in the first place. It’s all their fault, and I’m a living reminder of that. They ease their guilt by bringing in doctor after doctor. Watching them torture me makes my parents feel better, because at least they did something. It doesn’t matter that I’m still a fish, because it’s the thought that counts.

“We have a present for you.” My father, this time.

“What is it?” Maybe a new friend for my aquarium.

They don’t answer. Instead, a door slides open. Someone is coming in.

I turn around, ignoring my parents’ rule. They say nothing, but avert their eyes. Wouldn’t want them to see the betrayal and hatred on their invalid daughter’s face.

I turn to the chamber that separates my aquarium from the rest of the house. A gentle hiss sounds as the oxygen is drained from the chamber. Then the door between the chamber and me opens, and my fellow fish swims in.

Moderately tall, handsome by all accounts, with soft black hair and chiseled features. Young, too—no more than 21. His mouth is obscured by an oxygen mask, but deep-set dimples peek out the sides.

But none of that matters, because my parents didn’t get me another fish. They got me another doctor.

“I don’t want it,” I snap back. “You can return him.”

“He’s here to try something new.” My father’s voice is laced with guilt and pity. I hate it—hate him for it.

I don’t want something new. My entire body is covered in needle scars from ever other doctor who wanted to try something new. I’ve gone into anaphylaxis from ever other doctor who wanted to try something new. And trying something new has always ended the same—with a little chestnut fish swimming in her aquarium alone again.

The new doctor takes a step toward me, and I inch back. He reaches out a perfect hand. I don’t shake it.

“Narin! Be polite!” My father has never once cared about good manners. But telling me to shake this man’s hand will make up for every lesson he neglected to teach me. At least, it will ease his guilt over that neglect. And that’s really the goal, isn’t it?

The doctor turns to my parents. “I prefer to consult with my patients alone, if it’s no trouble to you.” When they hesitate, he says, “I’m sure she can fill you in on the details of her treatment later.”

Released of their guilt, my parents leave. I wish they wouldn’t. I hate them, and prefer to spend as little time around them as possible, but even their company is better than being left alone with this strange man.

Again, he holds out his hand to me. I don’t react.

“I won’t bite,” he says, his voice like honey.

I reluctantly shake it.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Narin. My name is Dr. Jesse David. You can call me whatever you’d like.”

There are a lot of things I’d like to call him, but I get the feeling that’s not what he’s talking about. So I stay silent. I concentrate on the glass behind him, where a squirrel is scrambling up a tree.

“I hear it’s your birthday. 18, is it? How does it feel to be an adult?”

The squirrel finds a pine cone and starts gnawing on it. “Exactly the same as the past thirteen years. Like a fish in an aquarium.”

I expect him to laugh. That’s what all the other doctors would do. Just laugh at me, as if all my problems are a joke.

Dr. Jesse David should be laughing at me.

But he isn’t.

“I’m sorry. It must be difficult, being trapped in here, on display for everyone.”

Shocked, I nod. No one has ever acknowledged that before. It’s always Most people dream of being as famous as you! or I’ll fix you, stop complaining.

Dr. Jesse David shouldn’t be validating my feelings.

But he is.

“I understand that you’re probably tired of doctors coming in to experiment on you, trying the same things over and over when they do nothing but cause you pain. And I understand that you’ve probably lost all hope of curing your condition. But I want to give you hope. I want to help you. Not because I want recognition. Not because I feel guilty. But because you don’t deserve to feel like a fish.” I can’t see his mouth behind the mask, but his eyes are smiling. “But I’m not going to help if you don’t want me to. So, Narin, are you willing to try something new?”

Dr. Jesse David shouldn’t be this kind.

Dr. Jesse David shouldn’t care whether or not I want to be experimented on.

Dr. Jesse David shouldn’t be so gosh darn handsome.

But Dr. Jesse David is.

So I smile back. “Yes. I think I am.”