The Object

Just waking up this morning sends me into a melancholy mood.  Today is my birthday, a day that I absolutely dread, and yet, it comes without my consent every single year.  The day of my birth was also the day my mom died, ten years ago.  For most of my adolescence, it was just her and me after my dad passed when I was 12.  He was hit by a drunk driver.  He had no chance.  

After he was gone, it was just us.  My mom worked so hard to keep us afloat while I was in school, but even after working 10 hour shifts every day, she always made time for me. Her face showed exhaustion, but the twinkle in her eye, and her bright smile always felt genuine and just for me.  She was a truly selfless woman.

Once I graduated college and I got a steady job, mom moved in with me.  By that time she already had her cancer diagnosis and we knew it was only a matter of time that she would need help with her basic care.  Then on my 29th birthday, she was gone and that just wrecked me. 

I sighed, choking back the grief that crept up my throat. 

While I helped care for her, I had no time for dating or a partner, and now here I am, 10 years later, waking up alone on my birthday with no one, but my dog Frankie to keep me company.  Sure I have friends.  An active social life even, but my mom’s smile lit up the whole room, and I always felt loved.  

For the most part, I am happy I spent that time watching over my mom.  She sacrificed so much when I was a kid, taking care of her was the least I could do.  But this one particular day every year stings.  My heart breaks again and my grief bubbles over, spilling into everything that I touch.  

I hate today.  

But today is just like every other day, at least to Frankie.  Frankie’s nose nudges me further awake, ready to go outside.  I pad down to the kitchen with her at my heels, grateful I added coffee to the machine so it was ready without much thought.  

I hate today.  

Once my coffee was drained, Frankie was again by my side.  Even today we go for walks, she seems to say with her bright eyes on me.  

I hate today. 

I grab her leash and she immediately sits down for me to clip it on her collar.   With the door slamming behind us, we stroll down the street, headed to the path that circles the small lake that is the centerpiece to our village.  This is Frankie’s favorite walk, as she is set free from the leash as soon as the pavement is behind us.  She is off in an instant, nose to ground, sniffing for whatever creatures walked by before us.  

I continue at my leisurely pace, taking a moment to feel the warmth of the sun on my face, chasing the chill in the air away. The cobwebs of grief are slowly brushed away from my memories while I think about the times we laughed so hard we cried.  I pull up my collar to keep the wind off my neck and continue on, looking for my dog that I no longer see. The familiar path, the rhythmic crunch of leaves beneath my feet, all serve as a comforting balm to my troubled soul.

I glance around the wooded area surrounding me, looking for my furry companion. I call to Frankie.  She usually doesn’t stray too far away from me, but it’s fairly common to go ahead on the path, especially if she finds something interesting to track like a squirrel or other creature.  

I call her again.  Still no sign of her.  I pick up my pace a little. Rounding the bend, I see her up ahead.  She's sitting by herself, with a look of concentration, staring ahead.  I call her a third time, but she ignores my call.  Odd.  Usually she will run over. I follow her line of sight and see a peculiar object lying on the path, its surface gleaming with an otherworldly light. Curiosity piqued, I approach cautiously, a sense of foreboding creeping into my mind.

“What do you have, girl?” I ask.  She looks up at me briefly, but once again her gaze is only interested in one thing.    

Nestled amidst the fallen leaves, the object seems to defy the natural world. It is a sphere, roughly the size of a child's fist, its surface shimmering with an iridescent hue that seemed to change with the angle of the sunlight. Intricate patterns, almost like cosmic constellations, were etched into its surface. As I reach out to touch it, a warmth spreads through my fingertips, a sensation that was both comforting and unsettling

I turn it over to look at the other side, and I see an inscription. Sitting down on a rock, I reach for my glasses in my pocket to read what is written.  

“Connect my heart, and allow me to grow.  I will forever be your friend.  To the end”.  

I turn the piece around multiple times to see where it might connect to something.  Nothing looks broken or missing.  Looking a little closer, I see a crack in the glass.  Upon inspection, it looks like it was already fitted together with another piece. Maybe it was already put together?  I try to pry the two pieces apart, but it seems impossible.  As I continue to turn it over and over, I notice the object changing.  The texture no longer feels like a crystal, and a warm light is coming from the center, giving the object a soft purple glow.  

When I stop turning it, the glow dims and the texture hardens, but if I turn it quicker, it gets brighter and softer.  So odd!  I decide to spin it like a top on the large rock I am sitting on. It continues to spin long after it should have stopped, the glow becoming so bright I have to squint to look at it.  

Before my eyes, it levitates off the rock and is spinning mid air until it breaks apart into four pieces, causing me to duck so I don’t get hit.  Scanning the ground, I find all of the pieces, once again dark and hard like crystal.  

Fitting the pieces together once again, I notice that they no longer are held tight.  In fact they fall apart as soon as I set it down.  It looks as though there might have been a fifth piece holding everything together at the center of the four pieces. Scanning through the gravel and grass for what seems like an eternity, I come up empty handed.  By now the sun is behind the clouds and rain starts pelting my jacket.  Frankie whines, hoping we can start back.  

I throw the four pieces in my pocket and we sprint home, running between the raindrops.

Once home and dry, I spread the four pieces of the object on the table while my coffee is brewing.  Under the light in the kitchen, the pieces look more plastic than crystal.  I put three of the pieces together so I could see what sort of piece we are missing.  It seems like the missing piece is about the size of a large marble, but instead of being round, it's cut with many facets. Was this what caused the object to glow when it was spinning so fast?  It couldn't have been because I looked everywhere and watched all the pieces when it came apart.There was no fifth piece where we were.  

Sitting back, I feel the empty space with my thumb, remembering that same texture.  Why do I remember this feeling?  Thumbing through all my old memories in my brain I recall a plastic ball I used to play with as a child.  I would spin it on the table and loved the feel of the different facets.  Closing my eyes I pictured in my head putting the ball in a little box to keep it safe.  I still have that box.  

Rummaging through my closet, I find the battered box from my childhood.  I sit on my feet and tear open the lid.  Amongst the old papers and baseball cards, I find the little ball.  Oddly enough, it is the same purple color as the object.  

“Could it be?” I ask myself while I get up.  Back in the kitchen I add the little ball with the four pieces of the object.  At once the pieces fuse together, glowing. I step back, watching the object once again spinning and floating in front of me.  Spinning faster and faster, I watch frozen to my spot.  With a flash, everything goes dark. I don’t hear the pieces fall.  I get up to turn a light on, only to realize that I am no longer in my kitchen.  

“Where am I?  Wait, what time is it?  It’s dark out.  I haven’t even had lunch yet!”

With my eyes slowly adjusting to the light, I can start to see outlines of objects.  I feel a breeze on my face.  The sound of the gentle waves of the lake tell me that I’m back where I was when the object split into quarters.  

Realizing the object is still in my hand, I release my grip.  It’s still glowing but only faintly.  Suddenly I hear voices coming towards me.  I resist the urge to call out, not knowing the situation I am in.  I drop the object in my pocket  and crouch behind a tree, trembling quietly.  

Before me, a family emerges from the trail: a child and his parents, bathed in a soft, twilight glow that contrasted sharply with the pitch-black darkness I had experienced moments before. The child, a familiar figure, seems carefree as he skips along, his parents walking leisurely beside him. A wave of realization washes over me. I was looking at myself, as a child, with my own parents.

I remember this day.

The little boy grabs something from the ground and shows it to his parents.  “Look mom!  A ball!” he exclaims.  He holds the ball out and gives it to his/my mother.  She tips her head back and tries to peer through it using the sun as illumination.  Is the sun out?  It still feels dark from my perspective.  The ball is the center of the object.  

“Darling!  This is exquisite!” she claims as she rolls the ball in the palm of her hand.  “It feels like quartz, maybe amethyst.  You should keep it.  It will give you good luck.”

She hands the ball back to her son and they continue to walk away from me.  I sit on the ground, tears streaming down my face.  I miss them both so much.  I close my eyes and let my tears flow freely, allowing myself to grieve.  In the distance I hear my mother tell her son, me, “I love you.”

“I love you too, mom,” I whisper to her. 

Opening my eyes, I realize I am back in my kitchen.  The coffee machine beeps, signaling the completion of its brew.  It’s daylight, and the rain has stopped.  

Looking down in the palm of my hand, I notice the object still in my hand.  Once again it feels like a crystal, heavy and solid.  I turn it over and I realize the inscription has changed. 

“I love you son.  Always and forever.  Love mom.”

I set it down and the soft glow of the object beats like my mother’s heart.