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2001-07-30 | 11:10 a.m.

We must own the luckiest ten-cent goldfish in captivity.

A couple weekends ago, when the girls were still in Michigan, Jasper and I agreed to go to the county fair with Bambi and her kids. I get all the way to Bambi's house and as she's loading the kids in the car, she mentions that Roxanne and Starlah are coming, too. Aw, Christ.

Bambi's ex is the good-for-nothing Oddy, and Roxanne is Oddy's ex (the one he was with prior to Bambi) and Starlah is his daughter by her. I know that Bambi has waited until now to tell me so I couldn't back out on the phone. "Have you two become friends?" I ask complainingly, remembering that the one time I met Roxanne she proved about as friendly as an inanimate object. "No," Bambi says. "I only talk to her when we do something with the kids."

See, Bambi thinks family ties are important, so she goes to extraordinary lengths to maintain them. Bambi's own father was institutionalized in the state mental hospital, along with my brother, while she was growing up, and remains there to this day, I believe, and she never knew him. Diane literally cut him out of the few snapshots she had, so Bambi didn't even know what he looked like. As a teenager, Bambi initiated contact with her paternal grandfather, and visited him a few times and got to know her paternal aunt fairly well. She went to her grandfather's funeral and that was the first time she ever saw her father. They exchanged a few words on the back steps of her grandfather's house (he said, "You're Bambi" or something to that effect, and she told me later she knew who he was the moment she saw him, because of their strong resemblance), and that was it. That was the only time she ever saw her father.

When we were growing up it always bugged her that she looked so different from the rest of us. My sister is fair but Bambi inherited her father's dark Italian looks. Once, as a child, Bambi insisted she must have been adopted, because she had brown eyes while Diane and Damien have blue eyes. She was very upset about it. Only when Diane pointed out that my mother and I have brown eyes did Bambi calm down. But I know that she always felt different, a little apart.

Since Starlah is half-sister to Bambi's sons, Bambi wants them to see each other. Well, fine, that's her choice. But why does she have to involve me in it? Starlah is a sweet kid, but I don't really want to have a relationship with Roxanne. Why do we all have to go together? But it's also the county fair, where you just walk around in a loose group, so I don't feel entitled to complain.

I should also mention that since Bambi moved to our town several months ago, Oddy has not attempted to see the boys even once. Nor does he pay child support, though Bambi decided not to pursue it, because she didn't want to give Oddy any legal footing to make decisions about the care of her children, and because she knows that he wouldn't make any effort to pay it anyway (and I support her decision, though Duff goes ballistic whenever he so much as thinks about it). Oddy is supposed to pay child support for Starlah, but he is in arrears.

So to make a long story short, we are all at the damn fair. The only kids who can go on the rides are Rojo, Starlah, and Jasper. So the three of us mothers split a $45 sheaf of tickets three ways and wander around. No matter what the occasion, Bambi always buys crap for my kids, which drives me nuts because I don't buy her kids crap (which makes me look cheap, and I guess I am, because I don't want to buy crap). I just don't go in for cheap souvenirs and stuff. Meanwhile, I haven't brought enough money with me and have to borrow money from Bambi to eat lunch with (that reminds me, I still owe her that money, need to pay it back). At some point, using Bambi's money, I pay for something for all the kids that I know Bambi would have bought for them anyway. Oh, I remember what it was: carrots at the petting zoo. I bought all the kids a bag of carrots for one dollar a bag.

Roxanne offered to pay me back, but I just said "No, no" and went on about my merry way. Well, I guess Roxanne felt indebted, or maybe she was just being nice, so later she pays for all the kids to win a couple of goldfish in a little plastic case. It costs five dollars for each kid. Yow! I would never pay that for a carnival game. But I offer to pay her back anyway, and she says no.

Home we come with two fish in a plastic suitcase that holds less than a quart of water. One dies the first night. What to do, what to do. Duff passes along advice gleaned from the fish people at work (not Fishtians, whom we also call fish people, but rather the guys who tend the lab's tropical fish tank) but also announces loudly that he wants no part of fish maintenance. I change the water and buy fish food for the remaining fish and then Frank tells me the fish is now suffering, because I have not treated the water to neutralize the chloramates. He says he isn't particularly fond of goldfish. He says it's just a little feeder goldfish, so I shouldn't worry about it too much. But I do. I can't bear to have the fish die because I mistreated it, so I run out and buy water conditioner, even though it is Duff's money and his account is nearly empty. I want to buy a tank but I have to wait until Duff gets paid again. Once we get it on a regular feeding schedule, the fish improves, starts darting around the tiny container.

Time passes slowly. Though we haven't overfed the fish, fish poop starts to cloud the water. The fish seems more agitated; or maybe we are just projecting our feelings onto the fish. Everyone in the family talks about the fish and its behavior, including Duff, who continues to maintain that he doesn't want to have anything to do with the fish.

So yesterday, still budget-conscious, we went to Wal-Mart for soccer cleats and checked out the fishery. I wanted to buy a plain glass tank for $9 and get a pump later (Frank told me we could go without a pump as long as I moved the water around a few times a day) but Duff insisted on getting a package: tank, pump and filter, lid with light, water conditioner, and tropical fish food for $30. Then he insisted on setting it up himself. When I reminded him that he had told me he didn't want to do fish upkeep, he said that's right, he would set up the tank but not maintain it. Then I got a little mad because I had wanted to set up the tank myself and why does he get to do the fun stuff and then I get to the yucky stuff? It's just like when Diane bought a pony for Bambi, and I got to clean up after it and exercise it (but not ride it). So I took the damn pony out in the open and tried to get it to run and it didn't want to run. I was so excited when it finally started trotting a little, but all it did was run up ahead of me and kick me in the shin so hard I fell immediately. BAM! Hateful fucking pony. I swear it was smirking at me when I got up. That was only one of the ponies; the other one I did get to ride (after Bambi refused) but it tried to kill me, too. I rode it up the hill (tiny hill, long slope, not that grueling) and turned it around and it look off like a bullet back to Diane's house and its food. I issued the proper commands and pulled back on the reins but it just picked up speed. Diane heard me screaming and ran out of the house and beat the pony and yelled at it. She acted as if I should have expected this behavior, but I didn't. And I will never buy my kids a pony. They can beg me until they bleed.

Anyway, now we have a fish tank. Today I will go in search of sand for the bottom, a live plant or two, one of those net scoops and maybe another ten-cent fish to be a short-lived companion to this one. If we want, we can move on to tropical fish later, after the goldfish die and are "buried at sea." Or not.

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