From the Bowl
Photo created by author, Hillary Ramos, and Midjourney
Morning sunlight is creeping in. It refracts upon the glass and dances across her face. She floats about sleepily watching sunrise’s warm rays bring her habitat to life — soft greens and blues woven amongst brighter purples and muted grays along the walls beyond the glass. A serene habitat some would say of the bowl whose perfectly placed plants and decoration were well-intended and yet lifeless.
The bowl is perfectly perched within the surrounding room. Other objects and trinkets grace the edges of the bowl — gadgets and gizmos a plenty. Several inches down the shelf on either side sit other bowls much like her own. Each habitat maintains its space, their residents never able to encroach upon the others. They may catch the glimmer of another’s scales as they swim quietly by, but each resident is destined to remain in its own dwelling. Though sometimes, destiny is rivaled by circumstance. Every so often she wakes to see that another resident has vanished. The habitat is cleaned and briefly emptied until a new resident takes its place. A brief swim by and a locking of eyes before a synchronized flip of the fins sends them both darting back from whence they came.
She pulls in a breath from the surrounding waters. Her body wiggles and stretches, tired eyes gazing through the layered glass bowl toward a blurred clock on a distant wall — almost time for breakfast. As the clock begins to come into focus, so do the glass boxes that bring in the sunlight. Windows, they call them, openings to an outside world. But is something truly an opening if, to you, it remains closed? To her it was merely a glass ceiling beyond the glass, but she had to admit, the scenery was breathtaking.
The person in charge of her habitat and the others brings her the same breakfast every day — filling but not satisfying, though perhaps she shouldn’t complain. Meals are offered up every day by that soul with whom she shares a space, though the couple of inches of glass between them might as well be a mile thick. Who was this person really? Tending to her, cleaning her space, visiting throughout the day, developing a sense of familiarity and yet still somehow a complete stranger. This person cared for her and the other residents. For the residents, the caretaker served a purpose as their source of food and care. But what purpose did the residents serve, the water wanderer wondered. Pleasure? Companionship? A source of pride? It certainly was odd wasn’t it?
Satisfied with the deliverance of breakfast and morning platitudes, the person beyond the glass disappears. Where to? Who can say. The ones within the waters are left to roam and wait patiently for the caretaker’s return. Free to roam but caged all the same. But did she have a right to complain?
There certainly were some comforts to her habitat. The plastic fortress nestled beneath colorful pebbles in the center of the bowl served as her hiding and resting space. She was grateful for this space. Seeing the other residents was overwhelming at times, but even when she retreated to the furthest corners of her tiny castle, a passer by could spot her at just the right angle. Still, her waters were kept clean. Routine cleanings from the caretaker ensured that she wasn’t swimming in filth. However, the bowl’s top always remained exposed, and the waters were subject to any manner of disruption. She had a clean space to swim and to sleep, but rarely did she enjoy the privileges of privacy. Is it possible to be grateful for these things that help her to live while also longing for something more? She certainly believes so.
Shadows and light move slowly about the room beyond the bowl, shifting in rhythm with the movement of the distant clock. Noon is coming, time for a swim to the left side of the bowl. Muffled by the weight of the water, she hears her caretaker’s voice inching closer to the room. Odd — the caretaker is earlier to the room than usual. As the door opens, she observes the caretaker’s rigid posture and swiftness of her feet. Though certainly not as swift as her own fins, the caretaker moved with impressive speed about the room, searching for something but what?
A brief exclamation of satisfaction is followed by a thrust of the caretaker’s hand from under the bathroom cabinet. The ribbed handle of a net sits choked by the grip of the caretaker’s hand. A net? Oh, dear.
Abandoning her afternoon swim, she rushes to the opposite side of the bowl to get a better view of the other residents. A few bowls over, she spots the source of the afternoon’s chaos. An empty bowl is quickly snatched by the caretaker and taken to the sink to be filled. The bowl had been emptied last week after the sudden departure of a resident. Having been hiding beneath the partial cover of her plastic castle, she had not seen the resident’s destination — was it the toilet? Or the door? She hadn’t the slightest idea where each would lead, but knew that those who were taken through the door differed greatly from those who were flushed down a drain. The recognition of that difference made her gills flare.
Within moments, the bowl is returned and a new resident sits, passively floating within the waters yet to be filled with articles of comfort. Had this resident come from waters like those she previously called home? She supposes there’s no way of knowing, but wonders all the same.
Home. She isn’t sure how long she has been within the bowl. As the days pass, the vision of home slightly changes, becoming fuzzier and quieter within the recesses of her mind. Would she ever return to those waters? Or would she remain here until she could swim no longer? She feels the subtle ache of a fin as she reflects upon those distant memories. While trapped inside the bowl, her friends and family swim in deeper waters. She struggles to find a smile as she imagines their playful aquatic escapades, hoping deeply that they are all finding joy within their adventures, but also longing to find her own. Is it possible to celebrate their joys while also grieving her captivity? She certainly believes so.
The caretaker disappears again through the door, grabbing familiar gear this time that makes that ache for home that much stronger — a cover for the caretaker’s face, a special suit, long, webbed coverings for the caretaker’s feet, a cap to cover a head of dark hair, and a box of supplies for caring for future residents. All things the caretaker had at their first encounter, where she was snatched from her home and taken to the bowl.
The sunlight begins to fade from the windows and the shadows slowly set in. One by one, residents find refuge in their own plastic fortresses. She, however, continues to swim about the bowl, curious as to when the caretaker might come back for the night’s final check-in and farewell. Later than usual, the caretaker returns, doing a final round of evening feeds and glass cleanings before shutting off the last of the lights, tidying the room, and closing the door. The door that is both a reminder of her captivity and endless possibility for those who walk through it freely. Would she ever see that possibility? She certainly hopes so.
Silence, but a suffocating one. Only the humming of the room’s machines and the glow of their screens to keep her company. She floats to the railings of her fortress, climbs inside, and buries herself beneath the layers of blankets scattered across the bed. She breathes in and out and glances at the distant, ticking clock. Beyond her door, the night time staff roams about and the day time staff heads home. She wonders if they think of her trapped within these walls — the fish in the bowl aching for home. She closes her eyes and falls asleep to rhythm of her own heart beating, patiently waiting for the warmth of that sunrise to come in the morning.
