The Sound of the Broken Glass

It was a regular Tuesday at the end of summer in Winter Park, a typical small village lost in the hills of Colorado. Children attended kindergarten and school while their parents worked in stores, markets, etc. The town was bustling with its usual activities.

Anna woke up early, her mind filled with the day’s tasks. Monotony settled over her as she thought about her daily routine. After completing her hygiene chores, she mechanically prepared breakfast for her children. It was such a smooth-running occurrence that she could do it with her eyes closed.

Once her two boys, 8 and 10, had eaten their omelets and French toast, Anna packed their pot pies in paper bags, and they left for the school.

The sound of the closing door woke Anna’s taciturn husband, John. Half-asleep, in his underwear, he went from the bedroom to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway.

“I’ve told you a thousand times, don’t slam the door like that when someone sleeps,” he grumbled. Anna rolled her eyes, a gesture that had become all too familiar, and forced herself to be silent. With so many potential arguments, she didn’t want to fight over trifles. Anna left breakfast for him on the kitchen table, dressed, and went to work, in the city’s downtown, at a small library.

***

Everything in the library was predictable and full of everyday responsibilities. Anna could do everything with her eyes closed.

The Creative Women’s Club met every Tuesday after work in the library building, and Anna never missed it. Once a week, her husband could look after the children, and Anna could dedicate time to herself and her creative projects.

The painting class was tailored for beginners, and she was excited to discover this new territory.

After class, she left the classroom and walked to the elevator. Anna opened her eyes wide and blinked. Her college friend Luisa approached from the other side, where the literature classroom was, and stood in surprise for a second.

“Anna!”

“Luisa!”

Inside the elevator, they air-kissed, hugged, looked at each other from toe to head, left the building, and walked toward the bus station.

“Oh, Luisa! We had shared so much in those years.” Seeing her once-close friend, after all those years, was like a breath of fresh air in Anna’s otherwise mundane life.

“We have so much to remember and discuss the things happening around us,” said Luisa.

“I remember you liked poetry and wrote beautiful poems in college,” said Anna.

“Yes, I still write and share my poems with others in the literature club. Listen, Anna, it is not too dark yet. Let’s walk around and shop impulsively,” said Luisa, laughing. Anna looked at Luisa’s clothes, which were so trendy and stylish, and compared them with her own. Luisa smiled, “Relax, my friend, buy something for yourself. Do not think and overthink. I want to see your cheerful face.”

The nearest shopping plaza was around the corner. Bright, stylish, and beautifully arranged shelves attract shoppers, and no woman can resist their temptation. Luisa took some brand-name T-shirts and shorts and approached the cashier. Anna’s face expressed nothing, but a storm of emotions was brewing. Louisa took a few more pieces without thinking long, hard, or weighing.

“You’re not even trying them on, they might not fit you, or they might not be your size,” Anna was genuinely surprised.

“Ah, if not, there are always people I can donate to:”

After a successful shopping trip, Luisa’s excitement doubled, and she could not let her lost and newly found friend go home.

“Let’s have a cup of coffee. I know a good French Cafe a few minutes from here,” Luisa excitedly said when they left the store. Le Café was in the same shopping plaza.

The coffee shop was enveloped in an atmosphere of warmth and coziness. The European vintage décor featured classic elements like bistro-style tables and marble floors. The friendly server offered a cozy table next to the window with a mountain view.

“It is so lovely here. I’m so excited,” Luisa giggled.

“Yeah, it’s nice to relive the student years, sit, and have an intimate chat over coffee like before,” added Anna. The tall, skinny waiter served coffee in beautiful vintage porcelain cups with glass plates.

Anna took the cup and admired its unique quality and style. As she held it, a sense of longing washed over her. In her mom’s home in Portugal, they had very similar cups and dinnerware. It was long ago; she couldn’t help but wonder why she had no more things like that to bring joy and beauty into her dull existence.

“Are you here, Anna? Hey!”

“I like the cups,” said Anna, and continued. “Luisa, tell me about yourself. Did you get married after the divorce, or are you still looking for a perfect boyfriend? You were the most beautiful in our group, and we were sure the best choice would be yours,” said Anna, smiling. As she spoke, a pang of envy and regret washed over her. She couldn’t help but compare her life to Luisa’s, which seemed more exciting and fulfilling.

Anna scanned around, “Why haven’t I frequented places like this? And why has my husband never invited me here? Do married men not visit places like this with their wives? Doesn’t a wife need attention?”

“What happened? Was the coffee bitter or hot? Why did you change?” asked Luisa, looking at Anna.

“Nothing, don’t pay attention, it’s so wonderful here, so pleasant.” Anna admiringly looked around.

Anna was lost in a sea of memories. She and Luisa dreamed about their husbands-to-be, making plans and predictions.

“Our girlish dreams were full of hope and wonder, painted in the brightest shades of pink,” said Anna. “Life turned dreams into realities; sometimes, those realities are far from what one had imagined.” Anna smiled, but her smile didn’t involve her eyes.

“Yes, our dreams were pink.” Luisa leaned back and looked at the vintage-painted ceiling. Sipping coffee, she added, frowning, “My husband was jealous: he turned my life into hell. I shudder when I remember my past days. I could not go out with my friends; nobody could call me; he checked all my phone calls and credit cards. Now, I am the owner of my life; I even have a smile on my face. I might still meet someone exceptional, although I am not doing anything in that direction.” Luisa covered her mouth like telling a secret, saying, “I am 35 and want to enjoy my freedom.”

On the other side, Anna tightened her stomach as she watched Luisa laughing. A forced smile tugged at her lips. Her life was far from the freedom Luisa enjoyed, and she wondered if she would ever find that kind of liberation.

“What can a lonely person do? Even if you are constantly in the company of people, you cannot dispel your loneliness if there is not that one irreplaceable,” said Anna with a grin.

“I have everything: a high-paid job and a social life,” said Luisa with unconcealed satisfaction. “In the engineering office where I work as a marketing director, dozens of young guys work. Many await my signal, but I don’t need them.”

“Freedom? Why do you need that deception? An excuse for a meaningless and vain life? One day, you will run away from it as you ran from your jealous but loving husband,” said Anna, as if talking to herself. She looked through the window at the gorgeous mountain view, at the far snowy highlands, covered in darkness.

“I don’t know what will happen next. I know I will not let the past repeat itself. No more painful trials, disappointments, regrets, and empty hopes,” Luisa crossed her arms on her chest.

Anna kept silent. She would write a novel about disappointment and regret, but chose to say nothing.

“Do you remember how we believed in unfaithful and self-forgetting love? We were sure that the knight of our fairy tale dreams would come and fulfill our hearts, and the angel of eternal love would not leave us for the rest of our lives,” continued Luisa, looking at Anna.

Anna looked away, unable to bear Luisa’s stern gaze. “I don’t know. Maybe I haven’t had a reason to complain about fate. At least I have regretted none of my steps,” said Anna, adding, “Well, we got from life whatever we deserved. I have children and a family. I value them more than anything else in the entire world.”

“My life is too short to waste on pleasing others. I don’t want to create problems and spend my precious time trying to overcome them,” said Luisa.

“We often take things for granted, unconcerned about potential loss, until it’s too late,” whispered Anna as she talked to herself and tried to smile.

The cafe prepared to close its doors, and the friends left.

Anna positively refused Luisa’s offer to drive her home. “I will take the bus, as usual. I live very close by. The bus is the best place to think.”

“Don’t envy your girlfriend for her freedom and powerful character!” Anna repeated to herself, looking out the bus window.

When Anna arrived home, the children had already gone to bed. She entered the children’s bedroom, wished them goodnight, and cleaned the kitchen table.

The knight of her dreams was snoring in the bedroom, so loud that Anna closed the bedroom.

“Am I wishing a lot? A little attention, love, and a chance to feel like a woman. Luisa was glowing. Who can say we are the same age? At least she looked 5 to 8 years younger than me: well-groomed, neatly dressed.” Anna got up, poured some tea, and thought, “I forgot when I last felt appreciated. Am I a woman or not?” At the last thought, her heart sank, and she covered her face with her palms and cried.

***

Anna looked forward to the Tuesday classes. It was the only place where she could create something according to her wishes without asking for permission or adapting to the wishes of others. She enjoyed her doodles, feeling free there. The art instructor often showed her some direction to cheer her up, but she did as her heart dictated. She created so-called intuitive abstracts.

Anna entered the club building on a regular Tuesday, and an unusual atmosphere caught her eye. The secretary girl had become unusually polished, and the table was clean and arranged. Anna entered her classroom, sat, and quietly turned to her neighbor, “Is there something new I’m unaware of?”

Continuing to draw, the neighbor, a retired fine lady, said, “They hired a new director. Our old lady has retired.”

“The new director is Jean-Claude Vandamme or Ben Affleck, right?” Anna asked.

“Someone like that, a very well-preserved Celentano,” said the neighbor, and they laughed.

In the middle of the class, a handsome man in his early 40s entered the room and introduced himself, “I am going to be the art director of this beautiful club. My name is Dylan. Well, every bouquet must have a thorn in it, I will be that thorn among those beautiful flowers,” he said showing the women and smiled heartily.

The women’s eyes sparkled, even those who would make that man a grandmother.

Mr. Dylan approached the easels and looked at the paintings.

“I need to know about the incredible artists in our small town. Who knows? Maybe we can have our booth at the state art fair one day.”

A collective and exuberant “Oh, yeah!” erupted from the women simultaneously.

***

As usual, Anna fulfilled her house duties in the evening and sat at the computer to watch the video drawing lessons. She was interested in Kandinsky’s [2] art and dreamed of painting like a genuine artist. She needed the field to express herself and touch hearts. There is no good or bad in art; if it speaks to your soul and responds, it is yours. Artists create art to touch people’s hearts, she believed.

The buzzing phone call interrupted Anna’s thoughts. She raised her eyebrows by looking at the number and recognizing it as the art director’s. Yet, there was no time to ponder the reason for his call. With a quick press of the green button, she said, “Yes, it is me.”

“Anna, you are a fantastic artist. So talented and beautiful. I am so delighted you are in our club,” praised Dylan warmly.

“Thank you, Mr. Dylan. I am filling in my spare time, not much,” Anna modestly excused herself.

While speaking, Anna glanced at her paintings beside her desk; she loved them. Few appreciated her painting’s beauty, not even her husband or relatives. However, her eyes sparkled with newfound affection at this moment, and she smiled at her paintings with a renewed sense of love.

Her self-confidence, like a dormant force, tried to straighten its back. The art director’s call seemed like a small yellow mark on her otherwise gray list of life agenda, injecting a flicker of vibrancy into her world.

Anna’s smile stayed on her face the entire evening; she got into bed with it. She even smiled at her dreams.

The director called every evening for the next few days and assured her how talented and beautiful Anna was and how happy he was to live in the same town. “You are beautiful,” echoed in her ears.

***

In the library hall, Anna walked as if on a Red Carpet. Remembering Dylan’s words sent a shiver down her spine. Perhaps the coworkers in the library and club friends were surprised to see smiling Anna, who was always emotionless and introverted. They were surprised, but luckily, they did not ask the reason for her unusual brightness.

Her husband either did not notice her shining eyes or did not pay attention. Perhaps he was thinking about what could happen to a mother of two in her late thirties. Then he answered himself: She must have bought new makeup or mascara.

The director called daily, leading Anna into a pleasant limbo. Sometimes, she asked herself, “Why is he calling? I know he’s not married, but he knows I’m married. We both know that nothing will go beyond those nice, sweet talks. So, what is this for?” She couldn’t ask anything directly, and only smiled when she heard, “My beautiful, talented girl! You don’t even know how precious you are!”

People who knew Anna thought her husband had received a promotion and had spent more money on family vacations, or that she had received a raise in her job. She focused intently on her appearance, handpicking her clothes, styling her hair precisely, and completing her look with thoughtfully applied makeup.

Only Anna knew the secret. She built a tiny, miniature glass temple and hid it in the deep corner of her heart so that no one could find it and give an evaluation or review. She cherished the delicate glass temple so no one could accidentally break it.

Nothing had changed in her daily life; she was the same Anna, a very loving and caring mom for her children, and the same wife for her husband, diligently caring for the family.

Anna watched her classmates’ admiring glances during drawing classes as they interacted with Dylan. After classes, they always surrounded him and tried to exchange a few words with him. Luisa was always among those admiring groups.

However, deep down, Anna was not worrying; she was sure that the object of all women’s admiration admired only her, as she was convinced of that every evening.

At those moments, Anna slid her soul’s eyes over the glass castle in her heart and caressed it tenderly.

One usual Tuesday, after painting class, she left the room and saw Luisa waiting in the corridor. She looked irritated and bothered.

“Let’s go have a coffee. I missed that fine French Cafe,” said Luisa. They walked to the cafe, discussing the art and poetry club, day jobs, and everything in between.

They sat at their favorite table next to the snowy mountain view and ordered the same delicious coffee and pastries. It was late autumn, and they enjoyed the warm and cozy atmosphere in the cafe.

Sipping the coffee, Luisa said, “Anna, I want to tell you something funny.”

“What is that, Luisa? Did you meet your extraordinary next one?” asked Anna, smiling.

“No, I’ll tell you, you won’t believe it. Dylan is out of his mind,” said Luisa, very anxious but with a big smile.

“What happened? Do not wait to tell me what happened,” worried Anna.

“Can you imagine? Dylan called me several times and said that he is dying for me, that we are born for each other, and that I am her precious girl.” Luisa stopped, looked right and left, and continued. “Two days ago, my classmate told me he called her, saying the same things.” Luisa anxiously sipped her coffee and frowned; maybe it was too hot. “Yesterday, I was polite and said nothing bad. Then he kept calling, and today I sent him far from me to the top of that mountain,” said Luisa, showing the mountains.

Anna sat in silence, lost in thought, while Luisa chattered about the club’s director, who had summoned all the exceptional women there to declare his love.

Anna slowly brought the delicate coffee cup to her lips and took a sip, but when she put it back on the table, the cup and small glass plate tipped over and fell to the floor.

The sound of broken glass spread throughout the cafe hall, but even that ringing did not wake Anna. The server quickly came and cleaned the shards of glass. Luisa apologized instead and continued to speak, ignoring Anna’s freezing look.

The young tall guy carefully cleaned the floor and table, “Be careful, ma’am. Pieces of broken glass can hurt.”