Big Guy dug a pond for me and I slipped my mosquito fish into the water. After two days of marveling at their stillness, I figured out they were dead. Unlike goldfish carcasses that float, this pair of dead gambusia sank to the bottom, companionably near one another in their watery grave.
Big Guy was out of town when the gambusia died. That gave me plenty of time to restock with feeder goldfish. They are my go-to fish--cramped together in aquariums earmarked for tiny starter fish bowls belonging to proud children who will forget them after a day and go back to whining for a puppy. (The dead fish, one week later, being proof they aren't ready for a puppy.)
I don't over think where to procure feeder goldfish. Neither do I expect most of them to survive very long. On this day, I went to the Wal-Mart on St. Charles Rock Road. This store at this location reminds me of feeder goldfish. It serves a part of St. Louis where success is measured in touchable, feel-able steps like keeping your kid in high school, planning a summer trip to Six Flags and throwing a few tomatoes in the ground and hoping it's not too early.
I'm not always comfortable at this Wal-Mart. I don't like how the security guard so visibly patrols the parking lot in his car. And the cars in the parking lot bear wear, lots of wear. Even before I park and enter the store, I worry--what if a ragamuffin car backs into my car and the driver doesn't have insurance?
On that day, my thinking felt wrong and dripped with a smattering of racism. Then intentional listening stepped in to change me.
I have tried hard this year to be fully engaged in the conversations that I have--even in the polite back and forth with strangers. As I approached the fish tanks at the back of the Wal-Mart, I noticed the young man stocking the tanks. I didn't see a person--I saw cornrowed-hair and slouching khaki pants with ravel-edged pockets. I felt relief that he was there, and I didn't have to find someone to scoop 38-cent fish.
The worker talked fish as he scooped. I wanted about 20 of them. I said, "You know a lot about fish." He answered, "It's been three years and I'm still learning."
And with those words, for the very first time, I saw him. This person likes the fish; he is a learner and for three years, he has been learning about fish.
Intentional listening took me outside myself and, for a moment, I met someone I didn't know. I bought 25 feeder goldfish and turned them loose in the pond. Only one died. It floats while the gambusia continue to sleep on the bottom.
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