The Keeper of Lost Friends · A Strangewoven story
The little fish arrived with a splash.
Not a very large splash.
Barely enough to disturb the surface of the Keeper’s stream.
The Keeper heard it anyway.
He had been sitting beneath his tree with an old hound asleep against one leg and two cats occupying considerably more of his cloak than seemed reasonable.
He looked toward the water.
Ripples spread across its glassy surface.
Something orange flashed beneath them.
The Keeper stood.
“Well,” he said. “That’s new.”
He picked up his lantern and walked to the bank.
The fish did not know where he was.
A few moments ago, there had been glass around him.
There had always been glass around him.
Beyond the glass had been a room.
And beyond the room had been—
His person.
The fish turned sharply.
There was no glass.
He swam forward.
And kept swimming.
He turned.
More water.
Plants grew from the bottom. Smooth stones rested beneath waving grasses. Sunlight danced in patterns across sand.
The little goldfish had never seen so much water.
He should have been delighted.
Instead, he was frightened.
He swam faster.
Where was the glass?
Where was the little castle?
Where was the strange bubbling treasure chest his person had thought was hilarious?
More importantly—
Where was his person?
A shadow appeared above the water.
The fish darted beneath a rock.
Something knelt on the bank.
The Keeper peered into the stream.
“There you are.”
The fish remained hidden.
The Keeper was accustomed to this.
Dogs sometimes growled at him.
Cats frequently disappeared into trees.
Birds flew away.
Rabbits hid.
Apparently fish had their own version.
So the Keeper sat.
He placed his lantern beside him.
Golden light spilled across the water.
Then he removed one glove.
A skeletal hand emerged from beneath his sleeve.
The Keeper lowered two fingers into the stream.
And waited.
The fish had seen fingers before.
These were certainly the strangest fingers he had ever seen.
But fingers meant something.
Fingers appeared above the aquarium before food arrived.
Fingers tapped gently against the glass.
Fingers moved through the water when plants needed adjusting.
Once, long ago, very small fingers had pointed at him while an excited voice shouted:
“That one!”
The fish crept from beneath the rock.
The strange fingers didn’t chase him.
He swam closer.
The Keeper remained motionless.
Closer.
The fish circled one finger.
Then—
Tap.
His nose touched bone.
The Keeper chuckled.
“Hello.”
The fish circled again.
“You’re looking for someone, aren’t you?”
The fish couldn’t answer.
But the Keeper already knew.
“They’re not here yet.”
The little fish remained beside his fingers.
“I’m afraid you may be waiting awhile.”
Many years earlier, the fish had lived inside a plastic bag hanging from a carnival booth.
People threw little balls toward rows of glass bowls.
Most missed.
One didn’t.
A child named Jamie stared at the prize.
A tiny orange goldfish.
Jamie hadn’t expected to win an animal.
Neither had Jamie’s parents.
On the drive home, there was a very serious conversation.
A fish wasn’t a toy.
It needed proper care.
Clean water.
Enough space.
Proper food.
Research.
Responsibility.
Jamie listened.
The next morning, instead of a tiny bowl, the family went shopping for an aquarium.
Jamie named the fish Penny.
Nobody remembered exactly why.
The name simply stuck.
Penny grew.
And grew.
The little aquarium became a larger aquarium.
Jamie learned about filtration and water quality.
About what goldfish should actually eat.
About how much space they needed.
About all the things nobody at the carnival had bothered to explain.
Penny learned something too.
Jamie meant food.
Whenever Jamie entered the room, Penny swam toward the glass.
Tap. Tap.
Jamie’s fingers touched the other side.
“Hi, Penny.”
Years passed.
Jamie grew taller.
The aquarium changed rooms.
Then houses.
When Jamie eventually moved away from home, there was never any question about Penny.
The aquarium went too.
Moving it was an ordeal.
Jamie complained the entire time.
“You know, most people take a box of clothes to their first apartment.”
Penny watched from the temporary container.
“I bring an entire aquatic ecosystem.”
Penny opened and closed her mouth.
“Don’t sass me.”
Eventually, the child who had won Penny at a carnival became an adult.
Penny became old.
There were jobs.
Relationships.
Moves.
Good years.
Bad ones.
And through all of them, there was an aquarium glowing softly somewhere in Jamie’s home.
Then one morning, Penny didn’t swim toward the glass.
Jamie knew immediately.
After all those years, you noticed things like that.
Jamie sat beside the aquarium for a very long time.
Penny rested near the bottom.
“Hey, old friend.”
Penny moved weakly.
Jamie placed two fingers against the glass.
Tap. Tap.
Penny slowly swam toward them.
That evening, Penny was gone.
And now Penny lived in a stream without walls.
At first, the Keeper worried.
He knew dogs.
He understood cats reasonably well, although he suspected cats preferred keeping it that way.
He had learned birds.
Horses.
Rabbits.
Reptiles.
But how exactly did one keep company with a fish?
Penny taught him.
Every morning the Keeper visited the stream.
He sat on the same stone.
He lowered his fingers into the water.
And eventually—
Tap.
Penny appeared.
Soon other aquatic friends arrived.
Another goldfish.
A betta.
A turtle who seemed unable to decide whether the stream or the meadow suited him better.
Tiny aquarium fish traveled together through the reeds.
The Keeper began tending the banks.
He made quiet pools.
Deep pools.
Sunny places.
Shaded places.
The stream grew through his land as though it had always been there.
Perhaps it had.
The Keeper sometimes wondered whether his land created whatever his friends needed.
He never received an answer.
That was all right.
Some mysteries were better left alone.
Years passed.
Penny waited.
Sometimes the Keeper found the goldfish near the bank, watching shapes moving through the meadow.
“Not today,” he would say.
Penny would swim away.
Then one morning the lantern changed.
The Keeper looked down.
Its flame had become brighter.
He knew that light.
He stood.
“Penny.”
The stream erupted in a tiny splash.
The Keeper smiled.
“I think your friend is here.”
Jamie arrived expecting nothing.
That was often how people arrived.
There was a bridge.
A meadow.
Animals.
A strange figure approaching with a lantern.
Jamie stared at him.
“You’re a skeleton.”
“Yes.”
“Am I dead?”
“Yes.”
Jamie considered this.
“Huh.”
The Keeper liked Jamie immediately.
Then Jamie noticed the animals.
A dog raced past toward someone farther along the bridge.
A woman dropped to her knees as the dog reached her.
Jamie watched them embrace.
Understanding slowly appeared.
“Oh.”
The Keeper nodded.
Jamie looked around.
“I never had a dog.”
“I know.”
“No cats either.”
“I know.”
Jamie smiled faintly.
“I had a fish once.”
The Keeper turned toward the stream.
“Once?”
Jamie laughed.
“All right. For a surprisingly large portion of my life.”
The Keeper started walking.
“Come with me.”
They followed the stream.
Jamie noticed that it flowed toward the bridge.
The water sparkled beneath the strange sky.
The Keeper stopped beside a familiar stone.
“There is someone waiting beneath the water.”
Jamie stared at him.
Then at the stream.
“No.”
The Keeper said nothing.
Jamie slowly knelt.
The water appeared empty.
“Penny?”
Nothing.
Jamie laughed nervously.
“This is ridiculous.”
The Keeper crouched beside them.
“Try what you used to do.”
Jamie looked confused.
Then remembered.
Two fingers touched the surface.
Tap.
A flash of orange appeared beneath the reeds.
Jamie stopped breathing.
Tap.
The little fish emerged.
“Penny?”
The goldfish shot across the stream.
Jamie plunged both hands into the water.
Penny circled them wildly.
“Oh my God.”
Jamie laughed.
Then cried.
Then laughed again.
“You’re still here.”
Penny brushed against those familiar fingers.
Tap.
Jamie wiped their face.
“I missed you too.”
For a long while, the Keeper said nothing.
Eventually Jamie looked toward the bridge.
Then back at Penny.
The joy faded slightly.
“But…”
The Keeper knew the question.
“How does Penny come with me?”
He pointed toward the bridge.
The stream flowed beside its path.
Jamie followed it with their eyes.
Water disappeared beneath the great archway.
And continued beyond it.
Jamie looked at the Keeper.
“Who said the bridge was only above the water?”
Jamie smiled.
They stood.
Penny immediately began swimming downstream.
Jamie walked beside her.
Every few steps, Jamie looked down.
Penny was still there.
At the beginning of the bridge, Jamie stopped.
The Keeper remained behind.
“Thank you.”
He bowed his head.
Jamie looked at Penny.
“Ready?”
The little goldfish flicked her tail.
Together they continued.
One walked.
One swam.
Side by side.
The Keeper watched until both disappeared into the light.
Then he returned to the stream.
He sat upon the old stone and lowered his skeletal fingers into the water.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then something small approached.
A frightened little betta hovered beneath the surface.
The Keeper kept his hand still.
“Hello.”
The fish cautiously moved closer.
“You don’t know where you are.”
Closer.
“And you’re looking for someone.”
The fish touched his finger.
The Keeper smiled.
“I know.”
His lantern glowed beside the water.
“I’ll keep you company until they arrive.”
Some friends run to meet us.
Some fly.
Some swim.
But every friend finds their way home.
