The Fish Bowl
Aviana
“Aviana, come on, get off that thing!” Hannah huffs from the big lounge chair, her impatience practically vibrating through the air as I sit cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through photos for my dating profile.
Claire sits on the floor beside me, one leg tucked under the other as she carefully paints her toes. Hannah shifts in her chair, draping her legs over the armrest, remote in hand, clearly waiting for me to focus.
“What are you even doing?” she asks, suspicion creeping into her voice.
“You told me I need to get out of my comfort zone,” I sigh, tossing my phone onto my lap. “So, I signed up for the Fish Bowl. I’m trying to choose a profile photo, but every selfie just looks so… meh.” Frustration seeps into my voice, my enthusiasm already dwindling.
Claire almost drops her nail polish bottle. “You did what?”
“No, you did not, Aviana,” Hannah exclaims, leaping from the couch and snatching my phone out of my hands before I can react. She bolts through the living room, phone in hand, while I chase after her.
Hannah, give it back!” I shout, dodging furniture as Claire extends her leg just enough to trip me. I fall face-first into the couch cushions with a muffled “Ow, dammit, Claire!”
“Aviana, age thirty-two,” Hannah reads aloud in a mocking tone. “Off to a nice start, babe. Likes long walks on the beach, picnics in the pa—”??“It does NOT say that!” I screech, vaulting over the back of the couch to wrestle my phone from her sticky fingers .
My heart pounds as I grab it back and scan my profile, my cheeks burning:
Aviana, 32.
Cheyenne, NC ?? Elementary Teacher ??
My friends describe me as intelligent, creative, and confident. I am inspired by art, movies, and nature walks. I love spending time outdoors but never complain If I’m snuggled under a blanket with a bowl of popcorn.
I’m drawn to new experiences, but I find myself more at home in small towns than the chaos of big cities like New York or Paris. There’s something about the quiet corners and local charm that captivates me—places where stories seem to linger in the air, waiting to be uncovered. I’ve lived in North Carolina most of my adult life but hail from many different parts of Iowa.
I’m 5’2”, living with one cat and a whole bunch of plants. It’s like a tiny jungle in here, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
They both stare at me, mouths slightly open. “Come on, you guys. Don’t look at me like that. Help me out here. It was your idea, anyway, Hannah.”
“Confident?” Hannah scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “Aviana, really?”
“I am confident,” I bite back, my voice more forceful than I intended. “I’ve got this.”
Hannah doesn’t flinch. Her gaze sharpens, piercing. “No, you don’t,” she replies, her voice quieter but full of certainty. “It’s all a facade, and you know it.”
“What do you want me to say?” My voice cracks, tears threatening to surface. “I’m trying here, Han.”
I refuse to let the tears fall. I’ve spent years building this wall, this armor of strength that’s held together with all the pieces of me I’ve tried to keep hidden. Therapy was supposed to help, but it only showed me how much I still have to protect. Even my best friends only know fragments of the truth—the parts I’ve let slip, the pieces I’m willing to share.
***
Pas t
Age 8
The memory is sharp and cold: the principal’s office, the grumpy-looking policeman, the social worker Ms. Calley.
Mr. Franklin, the principal, pointed to a chair across his desk. “Sit, please, Aviana.”
I perched on the edge, my small hands gripping the seat. “Please, Mr. Franklin, I didn’t do anything. I just took a pencil from Everly. I’ll give it back. Please don’t send me to jail.” My voice trembled as tears streaked my cheeks.
The policeman’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “You’re not going to jail, sweetheart.”
“I’m not?”
“No.”
Mr. Franklin rolled his chair back, stood and moved to sit on the desk’s edge, his tone softening. “Sweetie, you’re here because your mommy was in a very bad car accident.”
The world seemed to stop. It felt like watching a movie freeze and glitch, stuck in a moment that would never pass. A gentle hand on mine brought me back.
“Hey there, honey, come back to us,” Ms. Calley whispered, her voice soft, careful. Like I might shatter if she spoke too loud.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been staring at the floor, lost in a place where my mother’s laughter still echoed, where the scent of vanilla and jasmine clung to warm hugs and bedtime stories. She used to twirl me around the kitchen, her dress billowing as she hummed along to the radio. She made every scraped knee and stormy night feel safe.
But safety was gone now.
Ms. Calley knelt beside me, her hands warm as they covered mine. “I know this is scary, sweetheart, but you’re going to be okay. There are families out there who will love you just like she did. You’ll find happiness again.”
She led me out of the office, past Mr. Franklin and the officer who had spoken in hushed voices, past the walls that had absorbed too many broken stories like mine. She told me I was going to a foster family, that they’d take care of me now that Mom was gone and my father had long since disappeared.
She promised me a safe, happy life.
But that promise shattered just four months later.
***
The smell of chocolate chip pancakes pulls me from the dark recesses of my mind. I glance at the clock. 8:15. If there's one thing my best friends know about me, it's that I love a good chocolate chip pancake and will never turn one down. Hannah and Claire sit at the bar, their conversation halting as I enter the room.
“What?” I ask.
Claire exchanges a look with Hannah before speaking. “Av, we’re proud of you for trying to put yourself out there. But maybe the dating site isn’t the best way.”
She only called me that when something bad followed. No one else ever used that name but her. It all started after a frat party when I woke up screaming in pain the morning after Samuel handed me a red solo cup, claiming it was just sweet tea. Claire found me in the aftermath—Samuel assaulting me—and she took care of me when I had nothing left. She stayed by my side, calling me that name, the one only she dared to use, as a reminder that I wasn’t alone.
“Av, I’m here. You’re safe. I’ll never let him lay another finger on you,” Claire’s voice was firm, but there was a tremor in it as she held me close.
My body shook uncontrollably, and I gasped for air between sobs. “What happened? Why does it hurt so much?” The pain felt like it was tearing me apart from the inside, and the tears came faster than I could wipe them away.
Claire’s face twisted in grief, her eyes filled with sorrow. She reached for my hands, her touch gentle but desperate. “He hurt you, Av. Samuel spiked your drink. He said you got really nauseous and wanted to lie down, so he took you to his room.” Her voice wavered, the words breaking. “I couldn’t get to you fast enough. I was searching everywhere for you, and then I heard you screaming for him to stop. I’m so sorry, Av. I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped him.” She choked on the last part, the guilt overwhelming her as she held me tighter.
“But you told me—”
“We know what we said,” Hannah interrupts gently. “But maybe some soul-searching would help first. That’s why we signed you up, after you fell asleep—for a trauma retreat.”
“What?” My voice rises in disbelief.
Claire takes a deep breath before speaking, placing my hand in hers. “We found out about it from one of Hannah’s colleagues. She went through something similar in college and said this retreat helped her in ways she never expected. When we learned it’s set in the middle of nature—surrounded by woods, with trails and quiet spots—we thought of you right away. You’ve always felt more at peace outside, Av. It’s a place where you can work through everything at your own pace. You’ll be surrounded by people who understand—people who’ve faced their own pain. It’s not just about talking; it’s about healing, at your own pace. There are group sessions, but also time for yourself, to reflect and work through things privately.”
Hannah chimes in, her voice gentler than usual. “I spoke with my coworker and they had nothing but rave reviews about this retreat. They said it changed their life. They’ll teach you ways to manage the past so it doesn’t control you anymore. It’s not a quick fix, but it’s a step toward finding peace.”
The thought makes my chest tighten, my mind racing with uncertainty. But as Claire looks at me, her eyes full of hope, I wonder if it’s worth taking that step.
***
Past
Age 8
?? “Mr. and Mrs. Widlow are so excited to have you, Aviana,” Ms. Calley said, her voice light, almost too chipper. I didn’t feel the excitement. I couldn’t.
Mr. Brandon Widlow and Mrs. Lily Widlow—my new foster parents—had been chosen for me .
The drive to their farmhouse felt endless, each mile stretching out like a cruel reminder of everything I was leaving behind. I could still hear my mom’s voice, so vivid in my memory—her laughter filling the house as she cooked dinner, or her soft, reassuring words when I was scared at night. She was always the one who held everything together, her warmth and strength a constant presence in my life. Now, I had to face the silence without her, and the weight of that loss pressed down harder with every passing mile.
The Widlows lived on the outskirts of Hawthorne, and when Ms. Calley showed me their photo, I imagined them as typical middle class folk. Mr. Widlow seemed like one of those door-to-door salesmen, and Mrs. Widlow looked like a teacher, warm, kind and approachable.
But nothing about the house felt warm. It stood two stories tall and looked like it had been abandoned for years. The house’s decay was apparent, from the chipped paint to the sagging roof. When I walked inside, the air was thick with the scent of dampness. The wallpaper had peeled away in places, and the walls beneath were stained from age. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet, and the only noise in the house came from the struggling air conditioning unit, making strange, exhausted sounds. It felt like the house itself was giving up. And maybe, so was I. What did this mean for my future? Was it going to be as gloomy and bad as the way I felt standing there at the door?
***