It is forenoon, the summer of the year 1958. My mother just went down stairs, she says, "I won't be long, I got to wash a few cloths."

I'm at the sink, cleaning out my fishbowl. Grandpa is outside, trimming the lilac bushes; my brother is someplace with his new go-cart. As I was about to say, I'm cleaning the glass of the fish bowel in the kitchen, that is; taking the rocks out: replacing the water, cleaning the rocks, and I look at my goldfish (I'm eleven years old); I remain standing at the sink in the kitchen.

Now I got everything ready: the new water, and the rocks are back into the bowel, and I'm"I'm about to put my goldfish back into the bowl: slowly I pick it up, pickup my glass with the fish in it, my intentions are to drop the fish in the rounded top (the hole) of the bowel (and I know I got to be quick))and coordinated)); I will have once chance, but I'm ready; I'm already to pour the fish back into its home: yes I say again to myself: I got to do it hurriedly, but the fish is feisty very lively today (perhaps overfed them yesterday)) there are two of them)); two quick witted fish, I think they are"quicker than me anyhow, and I get the notion they do not like the environment right now in that glass, so I raise the glass up and as I start to pour the water in the glass, with the fish in it, into the glass bowel, with the fish, the hole of the bowel looking at me, the glass hits the rim, the rim of the glass bowel and the fish falls head first (both) into he sink, and I panic, and I panic, and I rush, rush, rush to save my goldfish: I'm in a terror, fright, alarm...god, what can I do...? do...

[?] I scream: "Mom...mom...my fi...as...fa...s...help!!"

My mother runs up the stairs. Her face is not calm, and sullen, her eyes brooding and alert" (here adrenaline has kicked in to high gear) within them I can see trouble for me: her expression is sudden, intent and concerned. My eyes are like marbles, the fish is in the sink wiggling all about, it might go down into the drain (I tell myself): I trip over your tongue, my words stutter out slowly: everything is upside down in my head, words coming out right"I look at her and the fish: her and the fish: her and the fish.

My mother says: "Fish...what fish...? are you talking about...!~? What's the matter, are you hurt?"

She looks in the sink, at me, at the fish in the sink, at me, grabs the fish, puts it into the fish bowel, so easy, too easy (I'm thinking, why I couldn't do that).

"Explain to me what is the emergency for you to be screaming so loud? (hesitates) "The fish?" she asks staring into my marble eyes, with her sudden, intent and lack of concerned eyes now (knowing there is really no emergency). I think she knows it's the fish, and I overreacted (woops).

"I couldn't get the fish...it was, was, was...go,gooo...ing to go down the drain, I thought I was ga-going to kill it, I mean, it was going to die in the drain...I got...I couldn't get it, it, it...though it would stop breathing...!"

"Do you want me to have a heart attack?" she says now, with a civil voice: no more concern, no more anger, just a sigh of relief, and a time for explaining.

"Not again, do not call me up these stairs to save another fish again, next time...just make sure there is no next time, ok? Pick it up and put it in the bowl!!"

"Yes," I said, and then was tongued tied, as I looked at my fish swimming around safely in my fish bowel, and my mother walking down the steps. Was it worth it"Yes, I think so"but I'm sorry I caused her to think the worse had happened to me: but what are mothers for? Did I ever do it again"never!