Fish store

"It stinky," said Violet, pinching her nose shut. She's been saying this a lot. I guess she's sensitive to smells? Sorry, Princess, we live in a city, there's gonna be times we're passing the corner of Pee Stench Alley and Warm Garbage Avenue.

We silently rolled through the store. I could tell they were antsy about us being there so I wanted to be fast. Everybody hates a toddler, even parents of other toddlers. She's quiet, I want to tell them. She's a good girl. She keeps her hands to herself. She knows just to look with her eyes. But they glare at me, and I can't help feeling funny. I keep her in the stroller and go fast around the aisles.

"Lobstah!" she says in front of a tank full of tiny ones. "Baby turtle!" There are fish with iridescent patches on their butts, fish the color of pink cotton candy and gingko leaves in the fall. Long darting fish. Fish with ruffled tails. Shiny silver fish like Susan B. Anthony dollars.

Why do they look like that? Why are some bright and others dull? What kind of damn camouflage is it to be purple with neon green spots?

I think we need to go to the library to find out more about fish. I just don't know enough to teach her.

We paused for a long time in front of the saltwater tank. I long for a tank full of anemones, pink and orange and green. They grow and shrink, did you know that? When they're hungry they can get as tiny as a pencil eraser, then grow to the size of an appetizer plate once they've eaten. They're magic things. But taking care of a saltwater tank is a huge pain in the butt; I'm not up for it. I couldn't even keep our polka dot plant alive. My friend Miles used to have a pink anemone, well, several. His name was Oscar. Oscar kept dying, but he'd replace him with a new pink one every time because, he told me, he knew I loved Oscar so much.

"Anemones," I said dreamily. "Anemones."

"Nem knees," repeated Violet.

The fish store guy was scooping out a fish. "Do you want to see it?" he asked, squatting in front of Violet. Nice guy! I could kiss him. I love it when people engage with her. "See, he scoops up the sand in his mouth, and then it blows out of his gills!" He holds the fish out in a cup for her to see it.

"He cleans it! Cool!" I said, impressed.

Violet says nothing, but her eyes look at the fish. The sand-eater. She is taking it all in, making wrinkles on her brain. How happy I am. How wonderful this is.