On a rainy Sunday afternoon, I visited my local conservatory. I found myself among  a cluster of small children, tightly balanced over the edge of an indoor creek in search of the biggest koi. One of them looked up at me, its head so large and features so pronounced that it appeared almost human. No nose, of course—they have no need for one—but I thought back to when I first started drawing portraits as a child, terrified to draw noses, and so I’d leave most faces without one. Unlike a face’s other features, a nose lacks a hard outline. It’s defined almost entirely by shadow, which just feels unfair when you’re seven. Even with a blank space between the eyes, you could usually tell who I’d drawn — a close family member, movie villain, or popular historic figure. 

Staring back at this terrier-sized fish, I felt like it resembled just about everyone I knew. Its features seemed simultaneously male and female,  young and old, like a French Bulldog puppy. I imagined trying to lift one, which would be difficult. Despite their denseness, though, they remained buoyant, close to the surface of the water where ripples danced across their backs, forming concentric halos around them.

For such a heavenly body, I imagine it doesn’t see much of the outside world.

I’d been behind on writing these past few weeks. My partner wound up in the hospital overnight with his second blood clot in four years. There simply isn’t enough room in his shoulder. That’s just how he’s shaped. Since then, we’ve moved through appointments: primary care visits, brief meetings with Mayo Clinic surgeons. Eventually the conversations became something about removing a top rib. He’s not even thirty yet, which is the sort of detail that I found deafening even when no one’s saying it out loud. It was after all this that we ended up at the conservatory. A low-impact outing, hoping to make the most of a rainy day. 

Perhaps these are the same koi carried to the adjacent Japanese Garden when the weather permits, each getting their turn outside. Even so, their world remains confined to the boundaries of a highly controlled Eden. They remain poised and indifferent to their guests, making use of the creek that serves them so well. They’re as large as the water allows, which also means they’re as large as they will ever be.

I don’t know whether I’d recognize when I’m the largest I’ll ever be.

My koi looked, at least briefly, like it was considering me. Or at least looking in my direction, which is not the same thing. Maybe it was just looking at my nose.