Two Fish

one || alaska

Alaska lay across her bed with her chin in her hands, gazing at Gordon swimming in his tank. He didn’t seem to mind that his tank was so small and restrictive, or that he had no direction, he just swam from one end to the other, weaving in amongst the plastic greenery. She had tried to make the tank as uncluttered as possible but her sister had insisted that Gordon needed something to entertain him because, let’s face it, life as a fish is fairly boring.

Alaska didn’t think so. She quite liked the idea of her memory being reset every few seconds: she could forget that she was stuck in a tank, but she would still be there. The same three seconds of panic would be repeated over and over. It would drive her insane.

The combination of agoraphobia and claustrophobia was an unfortunate one. Alaska always had to have an escape route planned: her bedroom windows opened wide onto the garage roof and the hallways were kept clutter-free. She hated, with a similar passion, being in both too small or too big a place. The thought of either brought on a mild panic attack; the reality was far worse. As a result, she didn’t like to leave the house, be it a trip to town or visiting a friend. Her mother, however, had different plans.

She stood in Alaska’s doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms folded.  “Alaska, honey, you really should get some fresh air. You’ll go crazy.”

“I’m fine, Mum.”

Her mother, a brunette of average height, sighed. “You’ve been cooped up in the house all weekend. The holidays are supposed to be fun, adventurous. Just look at Minnie. She’s been out every day.”

Alaska groaned and rolled over onto her back. Minnie – Jasmine – was the baby of the family, a millennium girl born at five minutes past midnight on the first of January, two thousand. It was always Minnie this, Minnie that, why can’t you be like Minnie? But it wasn’t a criticism, just a worry. “Because Minnie likes going out. I don’t. And we’ve only been off school since Friday, and today is Monday. That’s hardly a long time.”

“I know, but before you know it, a week will have passed and then another.”

“I’m fine, Mum.”

“Well, tomorrow then. You’re coming out tomorrow.”

“Fine.” She waved her mother off. “But if I have to come out, Noah does too.”

Noah was the middle child, fifteen years old. He shared no traits of either sister, preferring to stay inside because that’s where his computer was. Alaska couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a friend over but it was much better that way. The fewer people in the house, the better, was her motto. Christmas gatherings and birthday parties were a nightmare, especially at someone else’s house. She hated unfamiliarity, no safe room to take herself away to for fear that it was out of bounds, or any minute someone would tell her off.

“We’ll see,” her mother said. “At least Noah’s talking to his friends.”

“But they’re on the internet, it’s so bad!” she cried out. “He doesn’t even know half of them.”

“Ok, honey.” Her mother sighed again. She never liked to argue with her children, especially Alaska. “Well, we’re eating in about an hour.”

“Ok. Bye.”

Her mother left and shut the door behind her, heels clicking on the wooden floorboards. She didn’t often wear them, rarely at all, but she’d had an end of year meeting with the school and liked to look smart for the governors.

Alaska tapped a few flakes into Gordon’s tank, watching him wiggle his way to the top to gobble them down.

“Always hungry, aren’t you?” she murmured, dipping her fingers in the cool water. Occasionally, the little fish would swim alongside them, his tail flicking her fingertips and catching them both by surprise.

With Gordon satisfied, she plugged in her earphones and selected her ‘about an hour’ playlist. There was no ‘about’ about it with her father’s cooking. It was always exactly what he said it was to be. If they were to eat at seven, they would, and it would always be delicious. She threw herself back on the bed, the wrong way round, with her hair splayed out on the duvet and her feet up on the wall.

It wasn’t until her last song faded out that she heard her brother’s monotonous voice through her earphones.

“Lassie. Lassie. Lassie.”

She pulled one out. “What?”

He was stood halfway into her room looking utterly bored. “I’ve been calling your for ages.”

“You know, you could have come in and poked me or something.” She swivelled round and wrapped her earphones round her fingers.

He shrugged. “Supper’s ready.”