Fragile Things

All this world is clear, and her present rolling tear evident to any that beholds it from the other side of the glass. Nowadays, their houses sit in a guideline, blocks of distance at least one mile away from the next. Inside of these sterile living spaces, there are wings sectioned off by glass but passing through together so that you can be in the same room, or the same hall without breathing the same air because, after the pandemic, they decided that they were fragile things. 

She smushed her tear, rubbing it into her cheek and scratched a line in the hardwood kitchen floor as she pushed herself up from her side of the table, nobody on the other side of the glass. Drawn to the egg-shaped lid that sat on top of a stand in the corner of the hall, she grazed it lovingly with her fingertips then leaned over to press her cheek to feel the warmth so that she didn’t have to cry anymore. As she rested her upper body on top of it, she watched the round proximity meter begin to blink, and if she didn’t step back soon, she’d have her ears blared out, and maybe the same thing would happen to her as it did for Bear. 

The lady ripped out a large piece of paper from one of her old notebooks and was determined to do this in a long, more complicated way. The article could get lost; it could get dropped into a river, blown away by the wind, or burned by herself after changing her mind. There will just be one existence of her words, and if it’s gone, it will be gone forever, so easy for it to disappear.

My Dearest Bear,

I couldn’t sleep last night; I haven’t been able to sleep much at all since they took you away. I can’t help but think that it was all my fault because I was the one that asked you to do it. I wish to God I hadn’t; I wish I could go back in time and never say anything, then we can lean up against each side of the glass again as we sit on the couch to watch tv. I still sit pressed up against the glass, but it feels so cold without you there. I miss you so much. Do you remember our first date? It was at the movies, and we hadn’t met in person yet because of social-distancing laws, and I was so anxious to meet you. I got settled into my seat capsule first, and the movie already started, so I thought you had stood me up, but then I felt the attached glove from the capsule next to me move towards mine, and you were there. We didn’t even watch the movie. We turned off the sound in our capsules and talked the entire time. That’s why movies have such a special place in my heart because they brought me to you. 

It’s been a blessing living in this house with you we get to see each other everyday press ourselves to the glass, I can feel you, and then the proximity meter begins to fuss. I’m sorry that I got you in trouble, my love, and they took you away from me because of it. All I wanted was to feel you touch you finally. I had been thinking about it for years, and then I thought about it even more when I realized part of the glass was loose. Each day I’d shake it to see if it was getting free. Yes, my dear, that’s how that panel came apart because I was secretly trying to break it. I hope that you don’t hate me too much where you are at right now. I hold onto the memory of that moment I called out to you from my side of the house, and when you got to me, the glass came completely off, and you helped me set it aside. I was breathless, and I quit thinking. We stopped remembering what the rules were, and we touched palm to palm, fingers caressingly interlacing—skin to skin without the use of those thick rubber gloves. The sensor screeched, but I didn’t even have to yell over it; all you could hear was my voice begging you to kiss me please just once, and you did; we did just as the police came in. 

They sent me home after they repaired the glass; I had to be let me go because of the obligation I have at home. We haven’t seen each other since they came to take us away, but I know you should be back soon. I want you to be here when she comes. She is almost done baking and ready to hatch out this afternoon after I mail this letter to you, my love. I can’t wait to meet her and to have someone on the other side of the glass. Please, I hope you are not ill with me, my love. I can’t wait to have you back. I love you.

The letter was signed, placed into an envelope, which was deposited into a plastic one which was put into a slot that dropped into an enclosed mail tube that then slid into a mailbox outside of the house. She went back to the egg-shaped capsule. She was ready for this after almost a year of waiting and planning; it’s finally going to happen. Zipping herself into the hazmat suit without taking her eyes off the plexiglass of the capsule, she put her gloved hand upon the top. The timer had only a few seconds left, and the soft pinkish blob inside began to move, a tiny hand brushed across the top clawing at the tissue. The baby inside is about to be done, ready to be moved from the capsule into its very own section in between the two glass walls so that she and Bear can raise it. 

“I’ve been waiting for you, my precious one,” she cooed at the gooey tissue that moved with a kick of the little foot and punch of tiny fist. “I will never let anything bad happen to you, my love.”

The tissue began to break open as a tiny pink baby began to hatch out, and soon, the timer will go off, and the mother will be able to comfort it 5,4,3,2,1 carefully.