Why am I Broken?

What does it mean to be broken? James thought to himself as he stared blankly at the shattered glass on the tile floor of his kitchen. I guess it just means that something can’t be fixed. 

As the sounds of the broom combined with the glass scratching over the tile, there wasn’t much going through his mind. Just making sure he got all of the damned glass off the floor.

The damned glass. It just slipped between my fingers. Everything always feels like it’s slipping away, but this time, it actually is.

Perspective is a hell of thing. To think that something is gone, realizing it wasn’t gone after it was gone. 

I can’t believe I’ll never see her again. He paused for a moment, realizing his hand was covered in blood and shaking.

It was just the day before yesterday, that Saturday.

“James, I’m sorry.” Those words ran through his head over and over.

She’s sorry? How does she think I feel? James thought as he steadied his bloody hand. 

Shit, I’m going to be late. The clock on the microwave read 8:24 am, and James knew if he didn’t leave by 8:20, he’d be late. 

The glass can wait, it’s mostly cleaned up anyway. He thought to himself as he washed the blood off his hand and wrapped it in a paper towel. The cut didn’t look too deep, so he figured he would be fine for the drive.

James quickly grabbed his bag and threw on his coat, wincing in pain as he slid his bloody hand through the arm of the jacket. With a few quick steps and pointed insertion of the key into the lock of his front door, he was on his way. 

The overcast sky didn’t seem any different than any other day outside of Portland and the drive wasn’t particularly different either. 

James pulled up to his office at MacMillan and Sachs, the asphalt on the parking lot was a darker black than usual, and the hires tired showered the resting cars as he drove through the puddles to his typical spot in the lot. The trees surrounding the four-story office building were bare, and the building stood alone. 

Just like me, I suppose. 

“Hey James, how was your weekend?” His coworker Stan asked him as they met eyes in the parking lot.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” James replied. He never really liked Stan, so he showered him in nothing to pass the time. 

“Ah, spending time with your lady then?”

“Something like that. How was yours?” He’s gotta realize I don’t care. Almost to the elevator.

“Wait James, what happened to your hand? Looks like it’s really bleeding.”

“I dropped a glass this morning. Don’t worry about it, I’m pretty sure it’s stopped. I gotta start prepping for my 10 am meeting anyway.”

The elevator ding went off and the doors opened, “I hit floors 2 and 3 for us.”

You know, maybe Stan isn’t such a bad guy. 

“How could you do this to me?” The words of his now ex-girlfriend cut through his psyche as the elevator ding went off.

“See you around James, get that hand cleaned up!” Stan replied as he strolled out of the elevator. 

“You’ve always been so cold,” her words kept slicing through.

The elevator ding went off again, but James stood there for a moment staring at his hand. 

Is it still bleeding?  He thought, trying to distract himself from his involuntary recollection of Saturday’s events. 

As the door started to close, he reached out to grab the door but had to switch to his other hand. Just in time, gotta focus. 

“This was never going to work,” his own voice started cutting through.

Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. 

His personal phone vibrated in his pocket. Drew?

You wanna kick it tonight? Drew’s message read.

Sure, everything good? He replied.

I heard about what happened last weekend, figured you might wanna talk about it. 

Heard? From who?

Just around, I guess.

Man, I’m 33. The gossip is getting a little old. But whatever, let’s kick it. It seems like everyone knows anyway so I might as well tell my side of the story. 

The day went on and the meeting went fine, just like it always does. 

Some anxiety never killed anyone, right? Heh, well, would it even be the worst thing right now?

At around 1 pm, James hit the elevator button to floor two to spend some time relaxing and eating his lunch. It hadn’t been a hard day, but it was enough work where some decompression was warranted. 

As he stepped out of the elevator, Stan passed by. 

Weird, he’s usually a little too personal with me. Maybe he’s just having a bad day. That side eye was weird though. 

“Hey Stan, how’s your day going?”

“It’s fine.”

“I might have to get some stitches in my hand after all. The bleeding stopped. But man, it’s a doozy of a cut.”

“I hope you get better,” Stan replied.

Get better? I guess that’s a normal thing to say. 

“Well, I can see you’re busy, I’ll just talk to you later then.”

“You know, James, we heard about what happened.”

“What do you mean?” Is this about the meeting? It went fine. 

“The meeting, James. You projected lower growth than the client, that can make us look bad.”

“I didn’t think their projections were accurate. We can’t agree with them on everything, otherwise what’s the point of internal audit?”

“The point is that we just shut up and do our job. You’re not junior enough to be ignorant to that. It doesn’t matter if the client cheats, it matters that they pay us.”

“Shoot, I didn’t mean to cause such a rift.”

Slicing again, just for a moment, more words from Saturday, “You said you LOV-”

The words cut off as James realized Stan didn’t reply and looked back at his computer. A brief moment taking him out and then back into reality. 

What did he mean, when he said it doesn’t matter if the client cheats? I’m not going to argue about it with him, but I mean, our whole job is to make sure they don’t look stupid with ridiculous growth projections or inaccurate cost accounting. 

James sat down in the florescent lit breakroom and took a deep breath.

Alone again. Although, I could use it right now. 

It’s always felt like something was off about me. I’ve done okay in life. I have a decent job and a place to live. 

He stared at the plastic cup in front of him. Maybe some things aren’t made to be broken, you have to rip them apart to get anywhere. 

Pausing his thoughts for a moment, he picked up the cup and inspected it before taking a sip. The opaque plastic and methodically spaced ridges reminded him of a certain type of reality, a certain type of person. The kind that’s made for the struggle. 

The kind of person that’s made to be beaten by the world, day in and day out. They bend and scratch. Sure, those leave a lasting impression. But those types of people are still whole at the end of the day. 

Is that me? I’ve always thought I was broken. Or at least made to be. When I break, will it cause harm to those around me? Or is the damage already done? Was there any damage at all if I was born this way? Shattered in the pre-eminent moments of my life, only whole in the moment of conception. 

James went through the rest of the day without another thought about that plastic cup or the fragility of his mind. He didn’t see Stan again either, but that was probably a good thing at this point. Oh well, time to fall in line again tomorrow. So much for making an impact. 

On the drive home, his thoughts started drifting in and out of reality. The focus on the road left him on autopilot most of the time, aside from the brief moments of last-minute lane changes and finding the right exit sign. 

Ugh, I don’t really want to see Drew. I just find all of it so annoying. James thought as he looked for the exit sign.

As he engaged his blinker and checked his mirror to merge into the right lane, a car honked at him and sped past. 

“JAMES. DON’T LEAVE ME. WHAT WILL I DO WITHOUT YOU?” Another slice from Saturday. At the same time, James rapidly pulled the steering wheel to the left, forcing his car to stay in the lane and driving past the exit. 

Just trying to keep me here forever, I guess. Some kind of a daze, drifting in and out of reality just for a harsh reminder that I’m still in it. 

Oh well, I’ll get the next exit. 

As he pulled into the driveway of his apartment, he got a message from Drew.

Can you meet a little closer to my place? Sorry man, just wanted to be somewhere a little more neutral. 

Uhhh, I guess. How about Lumberjack’s?

Works for me. See you soon. 

All these inconveniences. Are they cracks or bends?

“Hey Drew, how are you?” James said as he walked up to the booth Drew was in.

“I’m alright, man. How’re things?”

“I’m actually interested in hearing what you’ve heard?”

“You sure? You know how these things can get.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. We were together for a year and a half. Who was this woman, really?”

Another slice, “JAMES NO. Don’t go. Please.” The words of his ex, spoken through her tears made him wince. He cared about her, or at least what he knew as her. 

“You alright?” Drew took notice of his change in expression.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just preparing myself.”

“Well, she texted me Saturday night after everything happened. 

You invited her to dinner, at a nice steakhouse. Nicer than you usually go to. So she got a little dressed up. Although, she said it was weird because you didn’t pick her up like you usually do. But, it was a nice occasion and frankly, you were paying for the food and the Uber anyway.”

Typical. It’s always more about what we’re doing. That always bothered me. 

Drew continued, “She said that what made everything worse was that she had no idea what was going to happen. She was prepared for a nice evening. You even ate the full meal with her, talked to her like normal. Why would you do that?”

James responded, “You ever have anyone die in your life?”

“….. yeah,” Drew replied, unsure where this was going. 

“Then you know that there is a point that was the last time you ever saw that person. No matter what you did or said, that was it. I knew going into this dinner that it was going to be the last time I saw her. So, I wanted to remember her as she was while I was with her, not the person she’d become. I remember every second of that dinner, even more so because I knew it was going to be our last.”

Drew sat there for a moment with a bewildered look on his face, “That’s cruel to her.”

“Well, she was cruel to me,” James responded bluntly. 

Was that unfair to her? I still don’t think so, after what happened. 

Drew continued his recollection of the events, “Anyway, she said the meal wrapped up and you got dessert, something you never do. Then, after the dessert came, you went to the bathroom and asked her to wait to eat until you got back. 

Pretty weirdly specific, but she gets why now. 

Then, when you got back, you broke the news to her. You knew that I had kissed her last month when we were all out at the bar. 

Frankly, it was just a stupid mistake, and that’s why I wanted to meet you today. To tell you that it was my fault, and that you should take her back. 

But then, I thought about what happened after she texted me.”

James’s heart sank, he knew what was coming next. Every word that came out of Drew’s mouth started to feel like knives cutting across his brain. Like a migraine, but the pulsating headache turned to sharp slices, making it impossible to think. Paralyzing him as he was forced to listen to what came next. 

“You know she came over that night. You know what happened. Why did you even agree to meet me at all?” Drew asked.

“Because this is how I want to remember you,” James replied. In all honestly, the pain he was in started becoming unbearable. He was angry at them both, but also felt the hole in his chest from losing both his lover and his friend in one night. 

It hadn’t really been in one night, though. 

Drew sat there again, the words from James’s early story ringing in his ears. Without saying a word, he took one last look at his friend, and left.

After Drew left the bar, and James watched his car drive out of the parking lot, the pain started to show. Tears streamed down his face, although his expression was blank. Everything welling up at once. 

Am I broken? Is this the moment? Is this what it feels like to break?

The stark differences between his facial expression and the tears running down his cheeks was apparent as he looked over to the window and saw his reflection. Breaking back into reality, he realized he hadn’t even ordered a drink. He sat there for another moment, mind back in the room, and stared at Drew’s half empty beer. 

Then, with a deep breath, he got up and drove home. 

When he got back to his apartment, he realized that the pieces of glass from this morning were still on the ground, mostly cleaned but some scattered bits remained. As he reached over to grab the broom, he realized he hadn’t thought of his hand in a couple of hours. 

Her and Drew in one weekend. Stan at work. My favorite glass, and now my hand.

Why is everyone doing this to me? Why have I always been the one who they break? Why have I always been the glass? 

He started sweeping the bits into the empty dustpan. With each stroke of the broom, he stared at his bandaged hand. Each movement bringing more and more attention towards his hand until he decided to put the broom down. 

It… it’s actually almost healed? It bled so much. I thought, I thought I was going to need stitches. I thought I couldn’t fix it myself. 

Maybe, maybe I’m not glass. Maybe I’m not even plastic. 

Maybe I’m the only real person here. They’re all the broken ones. I’ll heal, knowing that I did everything right. 

It’s just like this morning when I dropped the glass. I was the catalyst for its demise, but it was always going to break. It wasn’t a matter of if, but a matter of when. 

I’m just a person. I’m made to be able to take damage, and then heal from it. 

I was never broken.