The Glass

What does it mean to be broken? James thought to himself as he stared blankly at the shattered glass on the tile floor of his kitchen. I guess it just means that something can’t be fixed.

As the sounds of the broom combined with the glass scratching over the tile, he continued thinking, The damned glass. It just slipped between my fingers. Everything always feels like it’s slipping away.

I can’t believe I’ll never see her again. He paused for a moment, realizing his hand was covered in blood and shaking.

“James, I’m sorry.” Her words ran through his head over and over.

She’s sorry? How does she think I feel? James thought as he steadied his bloody hand.

I’m going to be late. The clock on the microwave read 8:24 am, and James knew if he didn’t leave by 8:20, he’d be late for work.

The glass can wait, it’s mostly cleaned up anyway. He thought to himself as he washed the blood off his hand and wrapped it in a paper towel. The cut didn’t look too deep, so he figured he would be fine for the drive.

James quickly grabbed his bag and threw on his coat, wincing in pain as he slid his bloody hand through the arm of the jacket. With a few quick steps and pointed insertion of the key into the lock of his front door, he was on his way.

As he pulled up to his office, James noticed that the parking lot asphalt was a darker black than usual, and his tires showered the resting cars as he drove through the puddles. The trees surrounding the four-story office building were bare, and the building stood alone.

Just like me, I suppose. He thought as he started walking toward the lone building.

“How could you do this to me?” The words of his now ex-girlfriend cut through his psyche as the elevator ding went off.

“You’ve always been so cold,” her words kept slicing through, causing him to wince with every sentence.

The elevator ding went off again, but James stood there for a moment staring at his hand.

Is it still bleeding? He thought, trying to distract himself from his involuntary recollection of Saturday’s events.

As the door started to close, he reached out to grab the door but had to switch to his healthy hand.

His own voice from that night started cutting through, “This was never going to work.”

Then, his personal phone vibrated in his pocket. Drew? Oh, that’s right. I’m supposed to meet up with him tonight.

At around 1 pm, James hit the elevator button to floor two to spend some time relaxing and eating his lunch. It hadn’t been a hard day, but it was enough work where some decompression was warranted.

James grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with water before sitting down in the florescent lit breakroom.

Alone again. He thought as he stared at the plastic cup in front of him. Maybe some things aren’t made to be broken, you have to rip them apart to get anywhere.

Pausing his thoughts for a moment, he picked up the cup and inspected it before taking a sip. The opaque plastic and methodically spaced ridges reminded him of a certain type of reality, a certain type of person.

The kind of person that’s made to be beaten by the world, day in and day out. They bend and scratch. Sure, those leave a lasting impression. But those types of people are still whole at the end of the day.

Is that me? I’ve always thought I was broken. Or at least made to be. When I break, will it cause harm to those around me? Or is the damage already done? Was there any damage at all if I was born this way? Shattered in the pre-eminent moments of my life, only whole in the moment of conception.

James went through the rest of the day without another thought about that plastic cup or the fragility of his mind. On the drive home, his thoughts started drifting in and out of reality. The focus on the road left him on autopilot most of the time, aside from the brief moments of last-minute lane changes and finding the right exit sign.

Ugh, I don’t really want to see Drew. I just find all of it so annoying. James thought as he looked for the exit sign.

Another slice from her, “James, don’t leave me. What will a do without you?”

Her words faded out into the back of his consciousness, and all that remained was the look of sadness from her pleading eyes.

That thought, and the vision that followed, caused James to miss the exit. Just trying to keep me here forever, in a transient space after the on ramp and before the exit.

Oh well, I’ll get the next one.

James finally concentrated enough to find the next exit and the parking lot of the bar. As he prepared to get out of the car and face his friend, he took a deep breath signifying his readiness to leave the comfort of his car.

“You alright?” Drew took notice of his facial expression as James approached the booth.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just preparing myself,” James replied.

“Well, she texted me Saturday night after everything happened,” Drew said as he began the recounting the events.

“You invited her to dinner, at a nice steakhouse. Nicer than you usually go to. So, she got a little dressed up. Although, she said it was weird because you didn’t pick her up like you usually do. But it was a nice occasion and frankly, you were paying for the food and the Uber anyway.”

Typical. It’s always more about what we’re doing. That always bothered me. James thought to himself, slightly annoyed at the reminder.

Drew continued, “She said that what made everything worse was that she had no idea what was going to happen. She was prepared for a nice evening. You even ate the full meal with her, talked to her like normal. Why would you do that?”

James responded, “You ever have anyone die in your life?”

“….. yeah,” Drew replied, unsure where this was going.

“Then you know that there is a point that was the last time you ever saw that person. No matter what you did or said, that was it. I knew going into this dinner that it was going to be the last time I saw her. So, I wanted to remember her as she was while I was with her, not the person she’d become. I remember every second of that dinner, even more so because I knew it was going to be our last.”

Drew sat there for a moment with a bewildered look on his face, “That’s cruel to her.”

“Well, she was cruel to me,” James responded bluntly.

Drew continued his recollection of the events, “Anyway, she said the meal wrapped up and you got dessert, something you never do. Then, after the dessert came, you went to the bathroom and asked her to wait to eat until you got back.

Pretty weirdly specific, but she gets why now.

Then, when you got back, you broke the news to her. You knew that I had kissed her last month when we were all out at the bar.

Frankly, it was just a stupid mistake, and that’s why I wanted to meet you today. To tell you that it was my fault, and that you should take her back.

But then, I thought about what happened after she texted me.”

James’s heart sank, he knew what was coming next. Every word that came out of Drew’s mouth started to feel like knives cutting across his brain. Like a migraine, but the pulsating headache turned to sharp slices, making it impossible to think. Paralyzing him as he was forced to listen to what came next.

“You know she came over that night. You know what happened. Why did you even agree to meet me at all?” Drew asked.

“Because this is how I want to remember you,” James replied. He was angry at them both, but also felt the hole in his chest from losing both his girlfriend and his friend in one night.

Drew sat there again, the words from James’s early story about death ringing in his ears. Without saying a word, he took one last look at his friend, and left.

As Drew left the bar, and James watched his car drive out of the parking lot, the pain started to show. Tears streamed down his face, although his expression was blank. Everything welling up at once.

Am I broken? Is this the moment? Is this what it feels like to break?

The stark differences between his facial expression and the tears running down his cheeks was apparent as he looked over to the window and saw his reflection. Breaking back into reality, he realized he hadn’t even ordered a drink. He sat there for another moment, mind back in the room, and stared at Drew’s half empty beer.

Then, with a deep breath, he got up and drove home.

When he got back to his apartment, he realized that the pieces of glass from this morning were still on the ground, mostly cleaned but some scattered bits remained. As he reached over to grab the broom, he realized he hadn’t thought of his hand in a couple of hours.

Her and Drew in one weekend, my favorite glass, and my hand.

Why is everyone doing this to me? Why have I always been the one who they break? Why have I always been the glass?

He started sweeping the bits into the empty dustpan. With each stroke of the broom, he stared at his bandaged hand. Each movement bringing more and more attention towards his hand until he decided to put the broom down.

It’s actually almost healed? James thought to himself, surprised. It bled so much. I thought I was going to need stitches. I thought I couldn’t fix it myself.

Maybe, I’m not glass. I’m not even plastic.

I’m the only real person here. They’re all the broken ones, convincing themselves that their twisted moral dispositions are the right ones. I’ll heal, knowing that I did everything right.

When I dropped the glass this morning, I was the catalyst for its demise. Just like my relationship, it was always going to break. It wasn’t a matter of if, but a matter of when.

I’m not glass, I’m made to be able to take damage and then heal from it.

I was never broken.