The Secret Goldfish

Note: This is a short story I wrote for English class for a project on "Cathcer in the Rye". It's based off of the basic description given in the book.


The Secret Goldfish

When Timothy first set his eyes on the goldfish, he knew it must be his.
“Mommy, mommy,” he said, pulling on Mommy’s sleeve. “Mommy! Look at the goldfish.”
His mother turned from examining a new brand of cat food. “What, dear?”
“Look at the goldfish!” said Timothy, pointing excitedly.
His mother had seen her share of goldfish in her time; this one did not appear that special. She turned back to her cat food. “It’s a very nice goldfish.”
“Can I have it mommy? Please?”
“No, you can’t. Stop pulling on my sleeve.”
“Please, mommy? Please? It’s really pretty.”
His mother jerked her hand away from his tugging. “No, Timothy, I am not buying you a goldfish. Go look at the dogs or something.”
That had worked to get rid of him before; Timothy loved to go and pet the dogs. But now Timothy just stood in front of the goldfish, staring at it from the middle of the aisle, as if he were too afraid to go any closer.
“If you’re going to look at the goldfish, at least don’t stand in the middle of the aisle. You might get hit by someone.” she said, moving down the row of cat food.
When his mother returned, cat food in hand, Timothy was still staring at the goldfish. He had moved a little closer now, but a foot still separated him and the small fish tank. His eyes moved left and right, following the goldfish’s lazy movements.
She reached for his hand. “Come on, Timothy. Time to go home.”
Her son did not budge. She grasped his small hand tighter. “Come on, Timothy, we’re going now.”
Her son wasn’t moving. She sighed. She did not want to go through this again. She though he was past the temper tantrum stage, but she wasn’t willing to try and find out.
“Timothy,” she said softly, “It’s time to go now.” She grasped his hand tight and pulled. Somehow she managed to tear him away. She led him back to the parking lot, and he followed, quiet.

At the dinner table, Timothy looked up from stirring his peas into his casserole. “Dad, can I get a goldfish?”
“I thought you wanted a dog.” said his father.
“Not anymore. Now I want a goldfish.”
His father looked to his mother. She shook her head. “What about Charlie-” (Timothy’s short-lived guinea pig,) “-and Buster-” (the rabbit in which Timothy had showed little interest in after it ran away,) “-You never took care of them. We always had to feed them and clean their cages. We have Tom,” he motioned to their cat, slinking about below the table, “and you don’t even care about him.” His father returned to his meal. “You can have a goldfish,” he said, between bites, “When you’re older.”
“But Dad,” said Timothy, dragging out the vowel, “I want the goldfish at the store. What if someone buys it before I’m older?”
“The store can buy more goldfish, don’t worry. I’m sure they’re quite popular sellers.”
“No, Dad, I want that goldfish.”
Dad sighed. “Your mother and I are not going to take care of another one of your pets.”
Timothy looked on the verge of tears. His father sighed. “If you can buy that goldfish with your own money, then we’ll let you get it.”
Timothy brightened instantly, and returned to playing with his food.
As soon as he was excused Timothy rushed out to his room. “I’ve never seen him like this,” said his mother as they were clearing the table. “He was quiet the whole way back home. He’s never that quiet.”
“It’ll pass. Kids do this kind of stuff all the time.” he assured her.
“Mommy, Daddy, look.” said Timothy from behind them.
Timothy had his hands outstretched, filled with coins, nickels and dime, with a scattering of pennies and quarters, as well as lint and a stray piece of string. His mother looked to his father, as if to say Isn’t he so cute?. “I don’t think that will be enough to buy the goldfish, honey.” she said carefully.
“Oh, okay.” said Timothy, slightly disappointed, and returned to his room. His father just shook his head, loading the dishwasher.

When Timothy started bringing home goldfish pictures from school and searching the house for loose change, his mother decided it was time for a talk with his father.
“He really wants this goldfish,” she said one day after Timothy had gone to bed, dreaming of goldfish. “I don’t think this is going to just pass.”
He sighed. “Well what do you want to do? I am not going to take care of another pet.”
“I really think he can take care of this one. He’s putting so much effort into buying it.”
“Well if he has enough determination to make enough money to buy it, maybe then he’ll be responsible enough to take care of it.”
“He’ll be thirty before he’s found enough pocket change to afford it.”
Timothy’s father shook his head. “What I said stands.”
“I guess I’ll just have to find a way for him to get some money, then.” His mother said.

Mrs. Eldridge appeared glad for some help, even if it did come in the form of little Timothy. “It’s so nice of you come and help me dear,” said the old lady to Timothy, sharing a knowing glance with his mother. They had arranged for Timothy to stay with their neighbor for a while, on the pretense of helping out around the house and making some money. His mother knew Mrs. Eldridge was just happy for some company, but it was good to see Timothy happy. “Come on dear,” said the old lady, putting her bony arm around her young charge and leading him inside. “It’s so nice to have some help around the house.”
Later, Timothy’s mother watched from her kitchen window as Timothy ran about in the leaves in Mrs. Eldgridge’s yard, dragging a rake. Their old neighbor followed him about, pretending to try and get him do some work. His mother smiled.
When it came time for Timothy to go home, Mrs. Eldridge slipped a few bills into Timothy’s mother’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming, Timothy. You were such a big help cleaning up.” she said, even though it seemed to Timothy’s mother that the house was in more disarray than when Timothy had first arrived.
“Thank you so much.” said Timothy’s mother. “This means a lot to him.”
Mrs. Eldridge smiled. “Any time, any time.”
As soon as they were inside their door, Timothy was jumping excitedly. “Can I have my money now, please? Please?”
“Alright, alright.” She handed him four fresh dollar bills. He grasped them slowly, basking in the power of currency. It was the first time he’d ever held bills before. “Do I have enough now, mommy?”
“Not yet, dear.”
Although disappointed, he was not dissuaded. “Look, look, daddy. I made this money all by myself.” he proclaimed to his father later, as he walked in the door, returning from work. Timothy stood tall, chest out, beaming.
“Oh really?” said his father, casting a glance to his mother.
“Yep. I got it all by myself.”
“Well that’s wonderful, son.” said his father, trying to stop from tripping over his son as he moved towards the kitchen.

“Dear,” said Timothy’s father that weekend, “Why is there a goldfish in our closet?”
“Shh, not so loud.” said Timothy’s mother.
“I though it would be another month before he had enough money,” said his father, slightly worried.
“I know, but he’s so attached to that particular fish.”
“How can he tell the difference?” said Timothy’s father, incredulous. “They all look exactly the same.”
“I don’t know how he does it, but he picked it right out when we went to the mall yesterday. For goodness sake, he drew a picture of it for show and tell and told everyone about it, even though he doesn’t even own it yet.”
“Dear, I told you, he is not going to get that goldfish until he’s made enough money.” he said, jabbing his finger at the fish in question, placidly looking about from it’s bowl.
“Don’t worry, he won’t. I’m just making sure he get’s the one he wants.”
The father sighed. He had lost the argument before it had even begun. “The whole point of him paying for it was that he would take care of it, not us.”
“I’ll take care of him, if you’re going to be like that.” said his mother. “All you have to do is feed it, dear.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t die before he gets enough money.” muttered his father.

“Come on Timothy, it’s time to go.”
“Please, Mommy, can I please stay a little longer? Please?”
“No dear,” said his mother, trying to keep Lucy from sniffing a child’s shoes that had been left at the playground.
“Aww.” said Timothy as he slid down the slide. “Please, can I please go on the swings one last time?”
“No, we have to take Lucy home, and I’m cold.” The fall chill blew leaves about here and there, and blew right through her coat.
“Okay,” said Timothy, completely ignoring Lucy as he followed his mother back towards their house. Timothy had been supposed to walk the dog, but the two’s mutual disinterest in each other had left his mother with the dog and Timothy with playtime at the park.
“Thank you so much, Timothy,” said their neighbor as they returned Lucy. “You’re such a help.”
She was about to hand Timothy’s mother some bills when Timothy spoke up. “Give me the money, I made it.”
“Oh, alright dear.” she said, handing Timothy the bills. Timothy gazed at them and then stuffed them in his pocket before running back down to his house.
His mother handed Lucy’s leash over. “Thanks, Ellen.” she said, hurrying after Timothy.
Timothy had gone straight to his room, as he had every time he had gotten money for the past month and a half, and began counting his bills. Timothy’s mother collapsed on a chair nearby. Timothy’s “working” had worn her out.
Suddenly Timothy burst out of his room, clutching a huge handful of dollars. “Mommy! I have enough! I have enough!”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, yeah! I have enough!” They went through and counted it together, twice, just to make sure. Sure enough, he had fifty-one dollars and thirty-seven cents.
“Can buy go buy the goldfish now? Please?”
“No. Give the money to me and I’ll go get him tomorrow, while you’re at school.”
Timothy looked loathe to part with the money, but he agreed to hand it over. “I can’t wait for tomorrow,” he said, staring out the window, his excitement turned to melancholiness.
His mother yawned. “Me neither.”

When Timothy burst through the door the next day, his mother was afraid he would knock the fish bowl over and kill the goldfish. “Goldie!” cried Timothy, putting his arms around the bowl and hugging it.
His mother helped him carry the bowl into his room and set it up on his dresser, and showed him how to feed the goldfish. Timothy was so excited he didn’t notice that the fish-food shaker was half empty.

“Timothy,” said his mother at dinner the next day. “Why is Goldie in the closet? I nearly killed the both us when I was cleaning out your closed today.”
“Because he’s my fish.” said Timothy.
“I know that, dear, but why is he in your closet?”
“Because I bought him with my own money, all by myself. Only I can look at him.”
“No one else can look at him?” asked his father.
“Nope. Just me, because I got him all on my own.”
His parents exchanged glances. “Well, dear,” said his mother, “You probably shouldn’t keep him in the closet. He needs sunlight.”
“Okay,” said Timothy, looking down at his peas which he had arranged in the shape of a fish.

Timothy’s mother had thought that was end of it. “Hey, Timothy,” she said when his friend George from next door came over, “Why don’t you show George your fish?”
“You have a fish?” said George. “I want to see!”
“No,” said Timothy severly. “No one can see it but me.”
“Timothy,” chided his mother. “Don’t be rude.”
“Why can’t I see it?” asked Geroge.
“Because I bought it all with my own money.”
“That’s dumb.” said George as he followed Timothy into the playroom.
His mother sighed. Timothy had become even more paranoid about his goldfish as the days went by. She wasn’t even sure if he fed it. She had finally gotten him take it out of the closet, but he had put it on the windowsill and used the curtains to cover it. He get mad at her even when she looked into his room.
Suddenly she heard yelling from Timothy’s room. She rushed in, to find Timothy and Geroge fighting.
“Stop it, stop it right now, you two!” she said, putting herself between the two boys.
“He started it!” yelled Timothy as soon as they were separated.
“Nuh-uh! He hit me first!” yelled George.
“He called Goldie dumb!” yelled Timothy.
“He wouldn’t let me see it!” yelled George.
When she had finally stopped the shouting, she had to send a crying George home and a crying Timothy to the corner.
When he had finally bawled himself out of tears, she decided that it had to end. “Timothy,” she said, “If you don’t stop acting like this, I’m going to take Goldie away.”
“No!” said Timothy, new tears sprouting from his eyes. “Don’t take Goldie! No!”
“Stop shouting, and stop crying, or else I’ll give you something to really cry about.” she said. “Now, you’d better start behaving or else we’ll take Goldie away. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Timothy, trying and failing to keep the tears out of his eyes.
“Okay then. Now got to your room and don’t come out until dinnertime.”

“Maybe it was a mistake,” said Timothy’s mother after Timothy had left the dinner table.
“Maybe what was a mistake?” asked his father.
“Letting Timothy get the goldfish.”
“Why?”
“Because of the way he’s acting now. He’s so proud of his fish that he won’t even let me in his room. And I checked the fish food- he should have run out by now. But it’s still almost as full as it was when I gave it to him. It’s a miracle that poor thing is still alive. I’ve been feeding it for the past two days.”
His father sighed. “See, this is why I didn’t want to get another pet. It always turns out like this. I am not going to be feeding that fish, and you shouldn’t be either. Talk to him, maybe we can convince him to take better care of it.”
“Maybe.”

“Hello, Timothy,” said Mrs. Eldridge later that week, over to borrow a cup of sugar.
“Hello,” said Timothy, uninterested in their guest and more interested in Cartoon Network.
“Did you ever get the goldish you were saving for?”
“Yeah.”
“Timothy,” said his mother with a barely detectable edge in her voice. “Why don’t you go show Mrs. Eldridge Goldie?
“I don’t want to.” said Timothy.
“Timothy, show Goldie to Mrs. Eldridge.” His mother said, firmly this time.
“Oh that’s alright. I’ll just go home.”
“No, no, no, please. It’s a very nice fish.”
She escorted the two to Timothy’s room. “Why do you keep the fish bowl behind the curtain, Timothy?” asked Mrs. Eldridge.
“Because I don’t want everyone to see it.”
“Well why not? It’s very pretty.”
“Because I bought it all by myself. I made all the money myself.”
“That’s very nice. But you should let everyone look at it, it looks nice and healthy.”
“That’s cause I feed it every day and take care of it all by myself.” said Timothy.
“Oh really?”
“Yep. I do everything.”
His mother sighed. Maybe the fish really was a mistake.

Later that week, with Timothy occupied by the TV set, his mother snuck into his room. Slowly she removed the curtain from around the fish bowl, quietly she lifted up the fish food and unscrewed the cap, softly she began to sprinkle the flakes into the bowl.
“Mommy!?”
His mother spun around, nearly dropping the container into the bowl. She was caught red-handed.
“What are you doing?”
His mother decided to take a stand. “I’m feeding your fish, Timothy. If you don’t feed him, he’s going to die. You’re not taking care of him, so someone else has to.”
“He’s mine!” yelled Timothy. “I bought him all by myself! He’s mine!”
“Fine.” said his mother, louder than she intended. “Fine. You can take care of him. Do it all by yourself, since you did it all by yourself.”
She stormed out, resolving never to worry about that goldfish again.

“Mommy,” said Timothy, approaching her slowly. It was about Goldie, she knew. Even coming close to mentioning the goldfish had set his mother on edge over the past few days.
She sighed. She was not in the right mood. “What is it dear?”
“Come look at Goldie.”
That was a shocker. He was actually asking her to look at it now? She followed him into Timothy’s room. The goldfish bowl was still on the sill but the curtain had been pulled away, revealing Goldie, floating on the surface of the water.
She sighed. Some small part of her had believed that Timothy might actually take care of his fish.
“I think he’s sick.” said Timothy quietly.
His mother shook her head. “Goldie is dead, honey.”
Timothy’s eyes welled up with tears.
She hugged him, and then, finding nothing to say, left Timothy with his dead friend.
“Mommy?” he said as she reached the door.
“Yes?” she said, turning half around.
“Will you help me bury Goldie? I can’t do it all by myself.”
His mother managed to smile a little bit. “I will.”