Carlotta speared a piece of pineapple. She put it calmly into her mouth and said, “Rennel has a dirty mind.”

“That’s just from hanging around with laboratory rats. Hazards of the psychology business. He needs to simplify his existence.”

The restaurant owner stood stolid behind the till. Dragons were embroidered on scrolls hanging on the wall behind him. The food on our table sent up pleasant smells. Rennel returned from the bathroom and started poking at the plates.

Sam announced, “Carlotta and I are going to move out to the country as soon as we can manage it.”

Rennel paused.

“Just a little house somewhere away from Clancy and the cats. We’ll have a vegetable garden and a couple of chickens.”

Rennel snorted. “What about school? Weren’t you supposed to graduate this year? You’re in a very bad way with the administration.”

“We’ll commute. Carlotta has a driver’s license. We’ll buy an old car. And out in the country with nothing to distract us we’ll get a lot of studying done. We’ll just come in for school, and for my Chinese painting class. We won’t hang around at all.”

I felt suddenly tired. They went on talking but I was not interested in their plan. I excused myself and left. Out the door, down the steps. The Hung Far Low sign flashed red. My belly was full. I walked straight back to my upstairs room and went to sleep.

A ten-dollar car for ten dollars

It was my father who brought me my first goldfish, long ago. He brought it in a clear bowl, along with a dark brown dress for my mother. My mother tore the dress and threw it on the floor. She was angry and hated my father and his gifts, which were meant to placate her anger.

I immediately loved the fish, its live beauty, how it dreamed in crystal water, yet I dared not turn my mother against me. I held the bowl in my hands and watched the fish swim inside the clear sphere I held with my fingers. The bowl was cool to the touch. I looked at my father, who was waiting to see whether I would accept the gift. But I also felt my mother watching, felt the heat of her anger beaming down. I stared at my father and let the bowl slide from my hands. It crashed at my feet. The fish heaved in the broken glass and spreading water.

“We could pick him up,” he said softly. “You could still save it.” But I felt my mother’s hatred all around me, and I put out my foot in its red leather sandal and placed it atop the tiny flashing body. I crushed the fish, could feel it give beneath the sole of my shoe, and even turned my foot so that it ground against the floor. I was five years old.