April 23, 2014
Last week I had a dream. You know the kind. A wake-up-in-a-panic and completely-drenched-in-sweat kind of a dream. Only this one will make you laugh out loud at its ridiculousness and possibly question what I ate (or drank). I have done a little dream interpretation research, and taking it, coupled with the last 24 hours, all I can say is... the mind knows.
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My son is standing in the atrium of a school. "Come on, Mom," he says impatiently, "Hurry! I have to show you this." The school got a new aquarium in the atrium. A HUGE aquarium. It stands floor to ceiling. Well nearly, about 18" from the ceiling, I'd say about 8 feet in height and I would guess it is about 5 feet wide. It is open at the top and you can hear the whirr of a motor moving the water but you can't see the motor. There's no trickling per say, but the sound is quite calming.
I started to wonder why they would spend their precious PTO-raised funds on such a frivolous item. Why not iPads, books or school-needed things? My thoughts are interrupted by my son's "Are you ready for this? This is too cool."
He's standing on the other side of the glass encasement, near the school office. I can see him through the water and it is an amusing site. He looks shorter than he already is, if that's possible, and squattier, like those carnival mirrors, or God-forbid the dressing room mirrors at clothing stores. His face is crunched down, nearly oval shaped. And his movements are blurred.
I tell him "Wow, that's a cool aquarium. It's so big, but I don't see any fish?" His smirk says it all. He flips a switch on the wall next to him.
A blue liquid, presumably a dye or water color of some sort, starts to infiltrate the tank. It's flowing from the top of the tank and the blue fluid begins to snake in streams like a river down and through the large tank. It's beautiful. The blue bands starting deep and dark at the top and as they permeate down the tank, lightening to shades of azul, colbolt, sky and powder blue. The bands widen and narrow with the moving water. They remind me of a lava lamp only with stripes not bubbles.
Then I see it. A fish about 6 inches in length. It is nearly clear with very faint, orange-red veins. You can only see it when the fish comes into contact with the blue liquid. I am guessing it's a tropical fish because the color is so extraordinary. As the blue fills the tank the once-clear color of the fish explodes with greens, aquas, oranges, yellows and purples. It's like I'm witnessing a scene from the water version of Avatar.
I suddenly become aware that my son has been talking this whole time, telling me about the tank, blue liquid and the type of fish. He's talking about the reservoir that holds the blue dye and how it isn't even a dye. It is a natural, biological liquid element that won't hurt the fish because it needs it to survive. And how the rock at the bottom of the tank is from a natural river bed and that they selected it because of the name of the school, Rock Creek.
I am in awe. And so are others. I am suddenly surrounded by other parents and kids who are in hushed attention watching the beautiful fish dart in and out and around the blue flowing bands.
A blur of orange catches my eye. It is at my feet and moving fast and then up the wall. When I focus in, I realize it is a large, orange, tabby cat. And it seems to have defied gravity and climbed to the top of the aquarium in lightening speed.
My son and the other kids watching are starting to panic. “Someone do something!”, “Oh no!”, “It's going to get Shadow!”, presumably the new fish's name.
By this time the cat is in the water, submerged, taking stabbing dives for the fish. With the tank nearly full of the blue stuff, the fish has nowhere to hide. The cat snatches up the fish in its mouth and begins swimming to the top of the water.
I grab a chair (that I do not remember seeing before) and quickly position it in front of the tank near the cat. I jump up on the chair and stick my hand in the blue water and grab the cat by the scruff of the neck, the way my grandpa taught me when I was little. The cat is surprisingly strong and it struggles and lashes, flinging water everywhere, but holds tight to the fish which is now pale gray, not clear. I lift the cat out of the water and realize my son was right, the blue was not a dye and I do not have Smurf-limbs.
I am hell-bent on saving Shadow. I just can't have all these poor children witness the murder of their beloved mascot. I hold the cat strong by the back of the neck and gently coax his mouth open to release the fish. I know I have to work fast. Setting the cat down, I scramble on top of the chair and quickly and swiftly release the fish back into the water.
As I step down from the chair, I notice the silence. There’s not even a murmur. It is utter and complete silence. And then a little, soft-spoken voice, nearly in a whisper “Mommy, what have you done?”
I turn and I see the cat slowing descending the last 12 inches to the bottom of the tank. Its eyes closed, tongue out, paws outstretched. It gently rests on the bottom on the rocks. There are no bubbles. The only sound I hear is the last slap (breath) of the fish that sits at my feet on the atrium floor.
In my head I hear “What have I done?”
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