She picked up the fragments of the teacup off the living room table. It had survived so many moves between houses and apartments and cross-state trips and now it lay in two halves. It was her own fault for leaving it in the living room where everyone got drunk and played games and had the kind of discussions that involved large sweeping arm gestures. She had just wanted some piece of her history in the community space like everyone else, but her history was laying there cleaved in two. She hadn't even been there to see it break. Even the cup itself seemed faded. She remembered buying it at the garage sale with her mother before they started fighting so much, when she was little and was still convinced that one day she'd grow up to mosaic the kitchen walls with sea shells. She would glue the pieces together but the cup would never again hold water. It seemed so appropriate, because it the early afternoon light, in the dirty living room, she felt as though nothing could stand the test of time. The dreams were just ghosts in that teacup, and now even the ghosts had nowhere to hide.
She felt naked.
No comments:
Post a Comment