Pets are permitted which fit into an aquarium not exceeding ten gallons, the student dorm rules read. Yes, my five and a half gallon aquarium made the trip with me from Pennsylvania -- and became the first item I unpacked after arriving at the college where I would live for the next four years of my life. I kept betas while in high school, but my last beta had passed away before I could bring him to school.
Ten was an awesome roommate. He was also a beta with a brilliant half-moon tail, which stood up like part of a shimmering purple moon, glowing in white. I welcomed him into my aquarium after seeing his listing on AquaBid, the fish-seeker's version of Ebay shopping. Fish purchased online undergo overnight shipping, and one September day I hurried to the post office in between classes to pick up a package. Green Bay, Wisconsin, read the return address label. When I opened the cardboard box I found my fish swimming in a plastic bag nestled within a styrofoam box for insulation. I saw, for the first time, the little purple fish who would brighten up my dorm more than any party ever could. "X19" was marked as the bag's identification, matching the lot I ordered online. Ten-nineteen.
If there ever was a fish who belonged at a college, it was Ten. His company kept me sane while I struggled at my desk over some of my most difficult assignments. My laptop frequently sat open with the Netflix window open beside my schoolwork. My math problems grew shorter and my papers seemed to flow from my keyboard simply because of the fish sitting beside me. A librarian back home told me of a doctor's office that kept betas to calm stressed patients undergoing cancer treatments.
However, it was not merely the presence of a fish that I enjoyed. I realized that Ten, unlike any other fish I ever kept, liked to watch Netflix. If there ever was a fish who belonged in college, it was him. On my desk, I angled my laptop in order to watch "Supernatural" while finishing a fiction writing assignment. I remembered looking up to find Ten lingering toward a side of his tank that he never cared for before. Rather than swim circles around his toppled Grecian columns, he hovered near the corner with his eyes pointed toward my laptop screen. I had to laugh, until I realized that he would not swim away. For the remainder of an episode I watched, Ten watch "Supernatural." When I paused the screen on the end credits, only then did Ten lose interest and swim away. For the rest of the year I tested this phenomenon and, sure enough, my fish with a brain smaller than a Cheerio found Netflix entertaining.
How does this sentence sound, I found myself asking, fingers hovering over the delete key. My miniature editor answered in his usual manner, with a stroke of a fin, staring straight at the season finale. Ten remained my roommate and study partner until late in my sophomore year.
