He, whose face reeked of a rough, cracked, near croak, unnecessarily loud voice, called her glass. He did not even attempt to sound like he should have. He refused to raise his voice. He sounded as if he was comfortably lying on his back at the depth of a humongous dark black clay pot, forgotten under a bed that prided itself of harboring the most ingeniously created beautiful thick array of cobwebs. He was calm, his voice deep, touching lightly, carefully, the soft of her middle ear. She could hear his gentle catch of breath, she imagined how loosely he held his phone, and pushed her own further from her ear.
She, her mother’s daughter, her father’s son, GLASS: fragile, breakable, irreparable if broken, unable to hide cracks, to be handled with care, moved like an egg. She was not the least offended. He had seen glass. His eyes had penetrated the mighty rock facade. He was not fooled by the deep dry wells of her eyes. Her smile could not hide the cracks in her caged heart. Not to him. Her broken pieces were then spread out, bared. No neatness, no cleanliness, no order, no perfection, no self-control could piece them perfectly in place for him. He had broken her out of her glossy shell. He refused to see the shine, polished and buffed. He saw deeper than she ever allowed. He called her, glass!
She was pleasantly surprised. She feigned hurt. She felt a release, she felt freed. She hang up. She walked out. She crossed the road without checking. She stood, unmoved, in front of a car that was nearly touching her,that had had to abruptly stop, looking into the eyes of its driver. A thin sweat had broken on his brow and he was spitting fire, his beer belly responding in loving union to the dirt that streamed from his mouth. His roving eyes tore into her body, in search of a part to insult. Finding none, he looked into her face. She smiled and said “I’m glass, I break!” The driver , lost, carelessly wiped his mouth with the back of his hands, his tongue playing longer on his lips and waved her away, to cross already. There was an added swing to her hips as she walked away.
She wanted the whole world to know she was glass. She was human. She had a heart that beat and bled. It had gained a deeper rhythm, a reassuring music, a life of its own. She did not have to hide any more. She did not have to burden her shoulders with the world’s troubles. She was out, free, normal, human. Tears stung. She let them flow. She did not wipe her face. The heavens agreed. Without a dark cloud in sight, drops started to fall, slowly, tenderly touching and joining her tears. She walked in the rain. She laughed like a happy mad woman, through her tears. She was the single soul that walked the path.
She would leave her safe bubble. She would let her hair down. She would let loose the ropes that guided her steps. She embraced her inadequacies. She was going to live. She would break a rule or two for starters and love to break some more. She would wake up the next morning, after the birds and go out to meet this new world; a world that had trashed a pretentious life out of her. This new world had told her the exact things she needed to hear. The words she had spent her entire life wanting, desiring, hoping for! Like a snake, she would shed her skin the night and wake up glowing, a new being. Wave after wave of happiness rocked her. She was glass! That night she cried!