Vignette #1

Two strange fish swim in their tank. They do not swim so much as fight. Or, I think that they fight. They might well be mating, or playing. I have no idea what it looks like for these fish to do any of those things. It looks as if they are doing nothing so much as kissing, or trying to, over and over. Their faces are bloated and strange, and their mouths are like beaks. I have not thought before how similar the mouths of birds and fish are. The fish ram their beak-like mouths together, floating back from one another at the impact, clumsy as bumper boats.

Again and again they inexpertly tap their faces together. The upward current of the tank filter's bubbles seems to be too strong for them. They do not swim confidently like fish that know their own weight. They look like over-inflated balloons held underwater: too light for the medium, eager to rocket to the surface. I cannot see the strings that hold them down like trapped balloons, but they behave as if they are there. The fish bounce and collide like an amateur's marionettes, the hidden hands beneath them instead of above, hidden hands that keep them kissing, kissing, perfecting their aim, until their kisses become believable, until they learn how to love each other.