An Exchange
Alison English
Could I have a few moments of your time for a story? Yes? Wonderful. It goes like this:
Henry had gone to work as he always did. He woke up just on the right side of late, got ready for work, skipped breakfast (as he decided he could just have a big lunch to make up for it later) and took the bus to the aquarium. Sitting at the information desk was not always the most interesting job, but there were always a few questions that kept him on his toes.
There were, of course, the children. When they weren’t asking inane things (“Where do the fishys sleep at night?”) they were accidentally insightful. Henry had just spent much of the morning pondering if sharks got lonely when fish fled from them and if they could even feel loneliness at all—thanks to the stream of consciousness of a tiny girl with pigtails. She had looked on the verge of tears, though, so Henry said, “of course not!” with a smile, and she sniffled into her shark stuffed animal before wandering off with a wobbly little grin.
But Henry didn’t have to go, so he was able to ponder this. To focus on this question rather than the person asking him where the bathroom was for the umpteenth time and pointing down the hall where, coincidentally, the sign on the ceiling also claimed the restrooms to be. Perhaps some like confirmation, but Henry was a little sick of being asked that question by now.
While most of the adults that approached Henry wanted to know things easily learned on signage or pamphlets, or really any other non-Henry source, there were always a few who, well, were strange.
One tall man in a suit asked him how much the octopus was. Henry tried to explain that he did not do much with the tanks or the finances, so he didn’t really know, sorry. The man said that was alright; he did not particularly care about the living costs of an octopus. He wanted to buy one. Henry stumbled to clarify, as quickly as possible, that none of the animals were for sale. The man took it quite well, all things considered. He simply walked away, a placid look on his face, while something metal in his bag clinked together with every step.
The next day one of the octopuses was mysteriously missing, and the only things left inside its tank were its next meal, some enrichment activities, and a silver fork. Henry decided not to think about it too much.
Henry was still not thinking about it when someone else arrived at his desk. Me, in fact. I asked him for a few moments of his time, to which he agreed (it was his job after all), and I thanked him and left. I wonder if he felt warm. I always do, after an exchange. Or perhaps it’s the opposite, and the loss made him feel cold. I suppose I’ll just have to ask someone someday.
There isn’t all that much more to it. The rest of Henry’s time at the aquarium information desk went much like this. Mundane question after question with a glittering gem every once and in a while. Even if it was fool’s gold, at least it was distracting. After many similar days, Henry went on a date. After many, many more, he got married, had three children, and became manager of the aquarium. Days after that, he retired, but still volunteered to give tours.
And then. Many, many days after that, Henry died. He was in the hospital, two of his children by his bedside, when he passed away. He had asked them, “Did I ever tell you about…” and then he died. His daughter was particularly distressed that she did not know what he wanted to tell them. Maybe it was about a secret safe in the attic, maybe it was simply that he loved them, or maybe it was about the time an octopus went missing from the aquarium. Now, they would never know. If only, she thought, if only he had just a few moments more. And, in fact, he did– before he oh so generously gave them away.
I really did appreciate it. I ran out of my own moments a long time ago, but people are so magnanimous. One simply has to ask, and they’ll give their moments away. There are entire jobs that revolve around giving one’s time to other people, and even if it is not intended to be quite as literal as I make it, I am grateful for it. I appreciate your donation as well. Although, unlike most, you did get a story in exchange, so maybe it was worth it. I should be going soon. I have some more requests to make before the end of the day. Although before I go—are you feeling warm or cold?
Alison English is a Junior majoring in Linguistics and double minoring in Psychology and Business and Technical Writing. She is from Marlton, NJ and loves to read. Alison is allergic to all nuts except peanuts, coconuts, and doughnuts.
Alison’s story was written in Paul Blaney’s Intro to Creative Writing Course. Prof. Blaney selected the piece for inclusion in WHR.