Shattered Glass

The glass hit the wall and shattered into a thousand jagged little pieces. When he stepped on a piece and she saw the blood pouring from his big toe she knew it was over between them. She didn’t know how much of it was her fault and how much was his, she didn’t know if he needed right then to go to the hospital, she didn’t know what they would do with the house, but she knew it was over.

She also knew that he’d meet somebody else and her name would just be something that he resisted uttering to the new her, and one day they may accidentally run into each other at a restaurant or a concert and she’d want to go up to him to say hello but he would probably pretend like he didn’t see her. He’d probably hide behind some post or run away with his head down. And part of her would be thankful they didn’t speak.

She didn’t know why she threw the glass. The thing he had said to her was so small, so trivial. It certainly wasn’t worth violence. It wasn’t worth extracting flesh, even if indirectly, wasn’t worth blood. She did feel sorry that he stepped on the shattered glass and sustain an injury that, at this point, she didn’t know was worth going to the hospital.

Actions have such unseen consequences sometimes.

“Can’t we just cancel with Kaitlin and Doug. I’m kind of sick of these hipster restaurants. And Kaitlin won’t shut up about that damn show she works on. It sucks. I’d rather just stay home tonight.” That’s what he had said. Those are the words that threw her over the edge. She wasn’t sure which part. It might have just been his tone.

He was always judging her, putting her down in sly little ways. But she knew she was wrong for throwing the glass. For making such a scene. And he was so understanding about it, he didn’t even get mad at her. He didn’t raise his voice. She wished he had cursed her out. Then maybe she could see it working out. The two of them. But when he had apologized to her. Apologized to her! For that small little comment, she knew they weren’t meant for each other.

When she moved out he was at work. She left him a note, some scintilla of explanation, but it didn’t come close to saying all the things she wanted to say. How could it? And she knew this was part of it, part of the shattering.



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