Robbie and I stared at my fish, Mr. Big. I had changed into sweats. Robbie put his jeans and T-shirt back on. The light in the tank was the only light in the room. I pointed to the orange Home Depot bucket. I said the plan was to take Mr. Big to the lake and let him go.

Robbie tapped on the tank. Mr. Big's eye got wide. He startled, sloshed around, moved his big body so he faced the other direction, then settled.

"What kind of fish is he?" Robbie asked.

"I don't know," I said.

"Would he survive in the lake?"

"Why not?"

"The shock of the change in environment might kill him."

"I can't keep him in the tank anymore."

"What about a bigger tank?"

"He'd just grow more," I said.

I sighed. Rubbed my eyes. It was 2.a.m.

Robbie picked up the bucket. A dead fly was at the bottom. Robbie went into the kitchen. Mr. Big and I were alone. His mouth opened and closed.

A month into my sobriety, I got a bunch of fish because I wanted to take care of something other than myself. One fish ate all the rocks, slowly killing himself until I noticed him at the bottom of the tank, heavy from the weight of the stones in his belly. Two fish went at it, attacked each other, pecked at each other's tails until death. Mr. Big was the last one left, and I didn't give him any more friends. Then he started to grow and he didn't stop.

Robbie came back and set the bucket down. It was filled with water. He opened the tank lid. Mr. Big began to slosh again. Robbie reached in with his hands.

"Wait," I said. "I can't look."

I ran into my bedroom and sat on the bed and covered my ears with my hands and squeezed my eyes closed. After a while, it seemed like the things I was not hearing had ended, so I stood at my door and listened. Silence. I turned on the shower and waited for the mirror to steam. I stripped down, stepped in, and washed the sex off.

When I was finished, I went into the living room. Robbie was gone. Mr. Big was gone.

I checked my phone. Text from Robbie. It said: fish trauma

The next text said I'm sorry.

The next text said I'll see you Wednesday night

Robbie told a story the first time he came to AA about when he was a kid, how his family used to swim out in the lake. A fish swam into his swim trunks. The fish flopped and scrambled to find a way out. He said he never wanted to go into that lake or any lake, but his father forced him, like threw him off the side of a pontoon or something toxic like that. Goddamn fish do not have any goddamn teeth, he said, no reason to be afraid of fish but he couldn't help it. I chased him down in the parking lot after the meeting and told him we were sort of connected because my bottom had been when I drove out to the lake during a party and tried to drown myself, but I couldn't do it. I told him I went back to the party soaking wet and literally no one noticed or cared.

Then I noticed the Home Depot bucket was still next to the tank, still full of water. I walked into the kitchen and took a glass out of the cupboard. I opened the freezer for ice and saw the goddamn fish was in the goddamn freezer.

Robbie had stood in front of all of us at that meeting and said you move along in life, and you are happy, and something bumps into you, and you have no control over how it takes hold, no control over what starts to happen in you.  

I thought about that as I stood by the freezer. Next to the frozen chicken patties, Mr. Big was wrapped up in a Ziplock bag, his mouth open as he fixed me with a dead and panicked eye.

.