The Marble

The whole obsession began with a tiny blue marble. 

Roger’s breath grew deep as held the tiny blue marble, one of the only remaining relics which his father had passed down to him. As he thumbed it between his palm, his bones trembled. The blue inside the marble was so deep and intense, Roger felt himself being sucked inside.

 Roger was a child without many friends; he didn’t play sports, he wasn’t the most intelligent, and after his older brother had died from a sudden case of pneumonia, Roger was reduced to spending most of his spare time alone. 

As dark as those times may have been, they weren’t. Roger had a marble. He held the marble and admired its pure, placid and smooth surface as it caressing his skin like a gem carved from ice. Roger watched the light reflect through it in every different direction as he angled it against his night lamp each night while he laid in bed. It’s blueness was the calmness of the sea, the sorrows of loss, and the vast expanses of the sky all confined inside one little glass ball. The world existed inside that marble, and it was his. 

Roger brought his marble to school one day and noticed a group of older boys who had formed a circle on the pavement. Inside the circle, were marbles of all different shapes and colours . Roger was tantalized by the sight of so many marbles at once, clanging against one another. The sight lured him over. Roger took out his blue marble and showed it to the other boys. 

“Nice marble, kid.” 

Said an older, red headed boy with a smile. His name was Ben. Ben was quite the expert on marbles. He had the biggest collection of all the other boys.

“Wanna play for it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Asked Roger, guarding his marble deeper into his palms. 

“You win, you get three of mine, plus yours. I win, I take yours. Capiche?” 

Roger thought for a few moments. The prospect of winning even more marbles sent vibrating tingles up and down his spine. He looked at the rich crimson, the topaz, and the violet little gems and found that he was helpless to resist the deal. 

“How do you play?” 

Ben gave him a look the other boys had seen before. There was a reason Ben had the most marbles. It wasn’t simply his ability to toss marbles straight, (which he was merely competent at), but his ability to find the right, unknowing opponents for him to humiliate. 

Within a couple of minutes, Roger relinquished his blue marble. Ben snatched it up just as the recess bell rang. Roger sat still, paralyzed on the concrete playground floor. There he remained until a teacher came and forced him to his feet and hauled him to class.

...

Over the next several days, Roger wallowed away, alone in his room. When his Mother asked him what the matter was, he was too ashamed to admit his transgression. He couldn’t bare to own up to what he done. The precious jewel which had been his fathers parting gift before he left to perish in the war. The little marble which had contained the world, was gone. Roger had lost the world. 

Tirelessly, Roger practiced his marble shooting., Roger wasn’t willing to let go of his blue marble once and for all. Even more, Roger had realized something he never knew before. While he had once been so deeply attached to his one blue marble, Roger had now realized the possibility for amassing even more marbles; A collection of marbles. Why stop at one marble? He wondered. All the beauty contained in that one tiny gem could be multiplied with each one he added to his collection. 

Within some months of endless practice, Roger had seen the realization of his wildest dreams. He was undisputedly the best marble shooter around. Rogers pants clanked and jingled as he walked about, weighed heavily down by his ever expanding marble collection. 

Day after day, Roger filled his pockets to the brim with the marbles from his other schoolmates. Each day, his tiny blue one became buried deeper within the fold. Eventually, though, Roger’s marble collection failed to impress him the way it once had.

With discontent, he continued adding to his collection, until one day at recess, when Roger saw a curly headed kid sitting against a wall with a colourful book in his hand— A comic book. 

…

Roger’s comic book collection had always been a touchy point of contention between him and his fiancee, Sharon. Since the two had became a couple, Roger forced himself to maintain his nagging obsession with his comic book collection as secret as he possibly could.

Aside from his yearly flight to the annual comic convention in New York, the infrequent expos he attended, his semi annual lunch meetings with his old collector pals and the odd delivery package arriving at their front door, Sharon wasn’t really aware of the indelible role comic collecting played in Roger’s life. 

The reality, however, had been that Roger was entirely consumed, addicted and possessed with his gnawing need to complete the collection he had been working on over all those years. Sharon didn’t know about all the hours Roger spent in his little basement room filled with comics, poring over his archive when she wasn’t home. As a result, Sharon was taken aback when Roger suddenly announced one morning he had to fly out of town for an ‘emergency'. 

“What emergency?” 

Sharon asked, her eyebrows raised. She was more concerned with the ambiguity of the situation than the actual potential of a real emergency. 

“Its kind of uh- one time only, uh - opportunity” 

Roger stammered.

Sharon eyes narrowed. She had seen him act with that type of nervousness before. She knew It could only be one thing.

“Roger, is this about comics?” 

“Well…” 

“Roger? I swear to hell! We had those reservations with the Gardners for two weeks already. We bailed on them last time when you got sick! What am I supposed to tell them? Things between Hillary and I are sour enough, Roger. I don’t need this crap…” 

Sharon was becoming angrier by the moment as she considered the ridiculousness of Roger and his ‘juvenile obsessions’, as she referred to them.Roger’s cheeks burned. He had still neglected to even mention the worst part to Sharon. And he knew, it was only a matter of time before she would find out…

With enough coaxing, Roger managed to settle Sharon down enough so that the two could at least sleep in the same bed before Roger headed for his flight early the next morning

…

There it was on a table in front of him, packed in a manilla envelope, the last remaining addition to Roger’s collection. The heavily breathing bald man at the shop eyed Roger nervously as Roger opened the envelope and removed the plastic sealed comic book. Roger held it up to the light and stared with complete bewilderment. All his hopes were finally about to come true. Behind on his payments for the house, his car payments, his bills, and with all the money he had recently poured into his engagement, it had only cost him the diamond encrusted ring off his finger. 

When Roger arrived it was still early in the morning. Assuming Sharon was still asleep, he made a b-line to his basement comic room. Roger nearly screamed when he found Sharon there, waiting by the door, with a stack of papers in her hand. 

“Roger…”

She said through gritted teeth. 

“Why didn’t you tell me we’re a month from losing the house?” 

Roger felt his throat to tight too speak, his clutched the manilla envelope behind his leg as if he could make it disappear from Sharon’s hawk like gaze. 

“Another comic?” She said, her eyes zeroing in on Roger’s hand. 

Sharon lunged forward.

“Sharon, wait…” 

Roger said, desperately sticking out his free hand to brace himself. 

As soon as Sharon saw his hand, she froze. 

“Roger….”

“Where is your engagement ring?” 

…

That same day, Sharon left to go back home with her parents. 

That week, the collection agency came for Roger’s car. 

That month, they came for the rest of his possessions, the house, and, with it, the comic book collection. 

As he watched the last of his collection get boxed up and then hauled away, Roger choked with tears, Like a child, he kicked his foot against the hardwood floor. An echo rang through the house, along with the sound of a tiny rolling object. Sliding along the dusty floorboards Roger once again saw the tiny blue marble.