Just A Glass

*Trigger warning: portions of this story reference verbal and physical abuse/ domestic violence*

The glass shattered as soon as it hit the floor.

“Mom! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

Lacey didn’t hear the words. All she could hear was shattering glass. She braced for the smack that she knew she would feel. It always came fast when she broke something. So, she had learned never to break anything.

She wanted to hide. The harvest gold stove was between her and her bedroom. Lacey hated this kitchen—the harvest gold appliances, the yellow countertops, the nasty, grimy tiles covering the floor. Even the sink was never clean—no matter how much she scrubbed, she couldn’t get the chrome to shine.

She had been unloading the dishwasher. Ugh! The dishwasher! That was another point of contention for her in this stupid kitchen. It only got half of the dishes clean, and then Lacey was forced to dry those before putting them away. That’s how she had dropped the glass. Drying it to put in the cabinet.

The drop-down door of the dishwasher blocked her way out the back. What could she do? There was no escape. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe he was asleep. Better yet, maybe he wasn’t home.

“Lacey!”

No such luck. She was in for it now. She didn’t know whether to run or stand her ground. She never knew which would be worse.

He rounded the corner with fire in his eyes. Lacey was stuck to the spot where she was standing. No time to act now. Fear had overtaken her.

“How many times do I have to tell you to be careful with the dishes? Are you just stupid or what? Don’t you know it costs money to replace the things you break?!?”

At least this time, he only called her stupid. Most of the time, he added much more colorful names to his tirade. Usually, he started with the current offense and tallied every single thing he found offensive for the past few days, weeks, months, or even the entire year.

She braced herself, waiting. Waiting. Wondering what would come next. That would depend on a few things. His mood. Whether he was high. Whether he was drunk. Whether she had awakened him literally as well as figuratively.

“Lacey! Answer me!”

But she couldn’t. She had no answer for him. All she could do was wait for what was going to happen next.

He was coming toward her. She found herself cowering in the little corner created by that harvest gold stove and the refrigerator. If only she could shrink to the size of Thumbelina.

The nearer he came, the more fearful Lacey became. Would it be fists this time? Feet? Both? Whatever he chose, you could be sure there would be a barrage of words thrown in for good measure. There always was.

Lacey closed her eyes and waited. She waited and waited. Nothing happened.

“Mom! Mom!”

“Mom, are you okay?”

Lacey shook herself back to the present. She was back in her own nice, clean, modern kitchen again. The polished tile sparkled beneath her feet.

“What is it, Sweetheart?”

“I said, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break the glass. It just slipped from my hands. I don’t know what happened.”

Lacey swiftly gathered her daughter into her arms in a hug. “It’s okay, baby girl. A broken glass can be replaced. You didn’t get cut, did you?”

“No, Mom. I’m fine. I’m a little worried about you, though. It was like you weren’t even here for a few minutes. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, baby girl, I’m fine. Just an old memory invading again. You know how I get sometimes. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Where’s the broom, Mom? I’ll clean up the glass.”

“It’s hanging out by the dryer. Grab it and the dustpan, and I’ll help you. Are you sure you didn’t get cut when it broke?”

Sydney grabbed the broom and started to clean the mess left by the broken glass. Lacey held the dustpan for her daughter to sweep the shards up to be placed in the trash bin. Watching her daughter meticulously sweep every space, looking for broken glass, made Lacey realize that some parts of that horrible time in her life had sadly been transported to this new and less stressful time.

She could only hope that Sydney and the other children were young enough that they didn’t remember the worst of those days. How she wished she didn’t! Unfortunately, those memories occasionally crept into the most mundane tasks of the day. Today, the trigger was a broken glass in the kitchen. What would the trigger be next time?

“I think I’ve gotten all the glass up, Mom. You might want to wear shoes in here for a while until we’re sure, though! That glass shattered into a million little pieces. I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t give it another thought, Syd. It’s just a glass. I’m just glad none of the glass cut you! What do you say we finish this chore together?”

“Sure, Mom. It’s my turn to unload the dishwasher, but I’ll gladly take the help! Maybe we can do something fun after we finish. You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Sweetheart, I guess in a way I have. Those memories are very vivid sometimes. I wish I didn’t have them anymore. Maybe one day they’ll be gone. Baby steps.”

“Don’t worry, Mom! Things are a lot better now. We’re all happier, and with time, the memories will fade for all of us. Talking to people helps too, you know. I’m glad you found us people to talk to, even though it was always worse for you. I know what kind of thing you were remembering. None of us have that kind of memory. You made sure of that.”

“I always tried my best to protect you guys.”

“And you did. We just wish we could have protected you. “

“That isn’t your job, Syd. Come on, Sweetheart, let’s get this dishwasher unloaded and forget the past for tonight.”