"Except Me"

Broken window. What did it mean? In a dream it means stress, and anxiety. In real life, sometimes it's due to that ball you weren’t allowed to play with inside. Or a crime. A broken window can mean a lot of things. Most people witness a broken window. They see a broken window. They watch a window get broken. But nobody’s ever been one. Except me. A broken window I am. I used to reflect people. I see one person setting a trend and the next second I'm a part of that trend too. I see a purple handbag and the next second I have one. I’ve always been something of a product of everyone else. If you're a window, you can't really be your own self. It’s hard.  Because the next second someone walks by, and you change. You change due to other people. Maybe a mother. Maybe a significant other. A friend. And enemy. Or just a random person. Anything can change you. I used to be a fine window. Clean, never dusty, not one crack. But now I lay in an attic corner, dust inches thick upon me, my face, the glass, broken and shattered to the point of no return. I was scared when it happened. When I went off the deep end. When they threw me off the ledge. It was a very high ledge. The drop in my stomach as I fell. Alone. As I hit the ground, I could feel the tears rolling down my face. I never wanted it to end this way. I never thought it would be this way. But things change. And when things change, things get messed up and ruined. But that's the past. You can't reminisce on it too much, or it will consume you. Like the termites eating the wood to my left. I’m in the attic right now due to a mistake. Someone picked me up, not noticing my cracks. And when they did,they dumped me up here, too lazy to put me in my real place, the dump. It gets cold at night. No blanket, nothing to cover me and make me feel safe. I live with someone named Cindy. I heard she’s really nice. I’ve never met Cindy, but it would be nice too. I have a nice window view. A view of something I can't have. Freedom. Adventure. But I need to stop wallowing in my own pity. I read that in a self help book once. I wish I still had that faded book. There was a bang downstairs, and the clanking of feet up stairs. I wonder who that could be? Could it be…? Suddenly a head popped through the door and looked directly at me. At me...The blonde head cocked to the side a bit and the woman fully entered, shutting the door behind her. “So you’re the one Joey keeps talking about” she said lightly. This was Cindy! Joey was the man who put me up here. Condy walked over to me, hands against her flower print leggings, a smile on her face, her white tank top loose and flowing in the slight draft. Hi...Cindy. “Well guess what? I’m here to rescue you!” and all of a sudden before I could register Cindy’s words, I was lifted up, a few pieces of myself dropping onto the ground “Oh No!” Cindy frowned, her freckles more prominent up close. “Let me get those,” she said, leaning down,and grabbing a few pieces. “I’ll just set these…” Cindy placed them on my wooden chair friend Marco and took me downstairs. Where am I going…?  The air began to get warmer as I moved further into the house, Condy’s breathing against mine. I was placed upon a table, and Cindy’s gaze met mine. “You know what Joey? I can make something of this. Something beautiful.” Cindy suggested as Joey walked past her, beer in hand. “Whatever you want” he slurred, stumbling to the fridge. Make something of me? Something beautiful? Could I really be…? I could be useful…? I was wanted! I was wanted! Cindy rolled her eyes and her warm eyes studied me further. “I’m going to make you mine…”she whispered. Oh Cindy...I hope so. 

One Day Later

 I lay on a workbench, and according to Cindy, I was finished. She had polished me up, and made me...in her words a masterpiece. Cindy was into funky style. That's why she had chosen me. She was looking for something like me and we found each other. The faint light voice of Cindy was all I heard, as I fell asleep, only happy dreams ahead for me.

One Week Later

I lay upon the wall, my cracks visible.I had a smile on my face, nothing making me happier. It was supposed to be like that. I wasn't afraid. Condy had taught me that fear was something you laughed at. You used it to accomplish things. Fear was just a cover. Before Cindy I was lost. I had no use. No purpose. I just...existed. I was there and nothing more. But now I had a purpose. I was a decoration. Cindy would look at me every night and day, and when she would she would say,“You make me happy” Cindy! You make me happy! You found my broken pieces and fixed them for me. I wasn't scared anymore. I wasn’t the broken thing I was before, I was strong and beautiful. I made a difference. And I now realize I made a difference before my cracks. After my cracks. With my cracks. They were my scars. The scars that show who I am. One person can do a lot to you. They can make you happy. Just like Cindy. If it weren’t for Cindy I wouldn't be here. Cindy was my saving grace, and you can find yours too, if you know where to look. If you’re ever stuck in that attic, keep your gaze to the door. Someone just might pop their head in for you.