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Golda And Me: An Essay By Marian Friedmann
It's now more than a year since Golda came into my life. She has changed me, and I know I have changed her.
Last summer, this little two-inch goldfish was living in a small plastic bag at the annual Fireman's Fourth of July Carnival, at the Parade Grounds in Greenport. It was busy on the midway this wildly hot night with spinning rides, sausages, fried dough, music and games of chance at every turn. It was hard to get up to any of the booths with the crowd so thick, and then I saw an opening at the "Toss the Ping-Pong Ball" concession.
Hand-eye-coordination not being my long suit, I hesitated, but hey, at three balls for a dollar, I thought I'd take a chance. It came as a startling surprise to me that the first Ping-Pong ball I tossed landed in a glass of water, and ringing bells announced me a winner. The carny presented me with a goldfish laying at the bottom of a Ziploc bag, in a few inches of murky water. In a calmer moment, I might have said, "thank you, but no thanks," but so stunned was I at winning that I found myself walking home with my little package. It didn't occur to me even then just what we, the fish and I, would be in for.
I didn't have a fish bowl, so I found a giant Pyrex measuring cup in the attic and determined that would do for now. I filled it with cool tap water, unzipped the bag, and into a new world slid my little prize. Wow, what a change. This sluggish thing was now performing like a whirling dervish -- flying, swimming, and diving at breakneck speeds. Being a rather attractive color with bright eyes, a pretty face, and a trim silhouette, I decided it was a she, and I named her Golda. The hour was late and as I went up to bed I thought, tomorrow I will have to get some goldfish food, that is if Golda is not belly up by morning.
"It's all I have," said the owner of the pet store when I hesitated at the fairly large box of food for $8. I considered it a big outlay after such a small initial investment. Never mind, if Golda liked it, that was good enough for me. A hungry little girl, she is eating all the time. Who knows how long she was a polybag prisoner? Next came a proper goldfish bowl, which my dearest friend, Rosemary, donated. The last purchase to date was a green net for catching her as part the clean water transfer process.
Greenport is my weekend home away from home. I explained this to Golda and hoped she understood that she would be on her own during the week, until my return late Thursday evening. "There is no way for you to come to New York with me on the Hampton Jitney, and my budget will just not allow for a fish sitter," I said. (My friend Norma has a cat sitter, but she is still working.)
So every Sunday night, we say our good-byes and hope for the best as I dash for the bus. I have been single for some time, my husband gone and my children grown. I quite liked the independent life, no strings to tie me down, and no responsibilities. Now, all that has changed.
On weekends, it's Golda and me.
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