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Fishy Story: Conclusion by Carol Wells

Every year families get-together for reunions, a time to share potluck dishes . . . and stories about the shining, and less than proud, moments within our Individual family units. Some stories can become a family reunion "staple" expectantly shared at every gathering. This is mine . . .

Due to some readers not being a member of my family, the Prelude shares a little about my work environment at the time of this event. Filler information that is not particularly humorous.

    Part 1: A Fishy Story    Part 2: Fishy Story

I was waiting for the cooks to complete a table's food order when the manager handed me the cashier's note, addressed to me complete with maiden name that had me instantly knowing one of my children had called.

I opened the note and scanned the contents. One thing about working in restaurants is that the employees have a tendency to be a curious group to the point that they are downright nosey. Therefore, as I read the note, another server was reading it over my shoulder. "Your daughter called - Garth Brooks just died."

"Damn," he drawled slowly while turning to retrieve a food order and garnished the plates. "I didn't know you were related to him . . . although, now, I can see a bit of similarity in your faces. But what a way to tell someone that someone in their family just passed away!"

He did not give me a chance to respond. He was already carrying his tray out to the dining room, no doubt pausing along his route to relay to the servers about my sad news. I laughed, wondering what similarities he saw in my face to a fish.

When things slowed in the dining room, I went to the break room to call my daughter. "Hey there, Hon," I said as when hearing her answer the phone. "You all right?"

"Didn't [name of cashier] tell you? Garth died, Mom," she sniffled.

"Yes, she told me but the woman at the pet shop warned you he might not live for long."

"Yeah, but he started to act all better so I thought . . . well . . . you know," she said while sniffling again.

"I know, sweets."

"You comin' home? I told them it was an emergency."

"I have around two more hours before I can leave."

"Ok (sniffle accompanied by a hiccup sound) Grandma wants to flush down Garth down the toilet and says I can wave to him while he swirls his fins in a bye-bye dance. I don't want him wadded up in toilet paper and flushed down the toilet . . ."

"That is how lots of folks 'bury' their , hon. "

"I don't care! Garth wasn't her pet fish . . . he was mine! And she wouldn't flush me down the toilet if I died!"

"Well, for one thing, I don't think you are small enough to flush. But ok, tell her I said not to flush Garth."

"Grandma, Mom says you can't flush Garth down the toilet! I told ya she wouldn't like it!"

"Ok, you go on to bed and I will take care of Garth when I get home."

"You won't flush him, will you?"

"No, I promise that Garth will not go near the bathroom."

"Ok, he's already out of the tank but I put him where you can't miss him."

I arrived home, three hours later, greeted by my mother smiling from the couch. I looked over toward the fish tank. "He's in there," she said while tilting her head to the kitchen doorway.

I walked into the kitchen and there, on my antique buffet, was Garth lying on the fine grain wood. "She didn't think you would miss him there," my mother explained with a smile.

My daughter displayed her logical thinking process again. Out of habit, while on the kitchen phone, I would lean against the buffet with one of my hips. I would have placed one of my hands, for minor support, right in the area that Garth now occupied. If I did not notice the fish with my eyes, I would have eventually discovered him.

When my children strolled down the stairs in the morning, Garth laid out in state in a small matchbox for one last viewing. They dressed for school before we all grouped outside. Well, my mother stayed inside not wishing to have the neighbors seeing her participate in Garth's burial underneath the pine tree in the front yard. The 'mother hen' sang Friends In Low Places one last time to Garth Brooks before the school bus arrived.

That afternoon, after the school bus dropped them off, she ran inside the house, "Can we go now, Grandma?" My mother nodded her head and the two of them left the house. Half an hour later, my daughter returned, happily carrying Garth Brooks, Jr. Same exact breed of fish only, this time, a bit healthier from the get-go.

The first Garth Brooks left his mark in our home for a long time. When the 'mother hen' put his corpse on the buffet', somehow Garth managed to dissolve some varnish, by the time I arrived home to remove him, leaving a slight oval shape on the buffet. Of course, the cashier at work loved to tease me about Garth Brooks.

Humorous Book Recommendations:             [ view all ]
Waiting: True Confessions of a Waitress
[Debra Ginsberg; 298 pages]
A delightful light read, whether you ever waited on tables in the past or not. Debra shares an interesting memoir centered around working in a restaurant. However, some people may not want to dine out for a few days after reading this book. Can you relate?

He was dead all right. He had been shot, poisoned, stabbed and strangled. Either someone really had it in for him or four people had killed him. Or else it was the cleverest suicide I'd ever seen.
-- Richard Prather

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