Broken Glass

I am still wondering where you have hidden those dozen glasses. They are not under the bed, nor in the drawer beneath the television. Even in the wardrobe where you used to keep your clothes, I still cannot find them. I wipe the sweat from my forehead. It turns out that this search is quite exhausting.

So where are they? I ask, looking at you, who remains silent. You do not respond. Please don’t be like that. I apologize, but I really must search your closet. I have forgotten where you keep the key.

There is no sound other than the ticking of the clock. In truth, I would very much like to compliment you on your beauty in that white dress. However, I feel that the timing is not right. Very well, I say as I rise. I will ask the dispenser instead. I take a moment to glance at you. You are not smiling.

Hey, do you know where the glasses are? I whisper to the dispenser. Come on, I need them to drink. To release the water within you. The gallon merely gurgles. I stand and look at you. I shrug my shoulders and smile. You remain motionless.

I think I should pretend to give up. I exhale a long breath as I walk over to the window. I sit in a chair, remove my shirt, and throw it onto the table. Perhaps by doing so, you will come over to me, take my clothes, and hang them up. Then you will lecture me a little about tidiness. After that, you will caress the scar on my chest. As usual. Yes, as usual.

It turns out the wind outside is quite strong. The curtains are dancing. Nevertheless, I still feel hot. Since I arrived, the air conditioning has not been working. You always promptly call someone to repair it. I have never known where you meet such service providers. Every day, when the refrigerator breaks down, two men come to fix it. After they leave, for the first time, you become cautious about the glasses.

“Why?” you ask. You look frightened in your loose red shirt. On the floor, the glasses have shattered. I remember my breath was very hurried at that moment. I kicked the refrigerator. “Hey! That was just serviced.”

After that, I think I just sat and watched you while you cleaned up the glass shards. I opened my shirt and threw it onto the table. For that time, you did not scold me. Perhaps because you were too busy. Or perhaps because you were too scared. I do not know. I never asked.

“What’s wrong, dear?” You approached me after finishing cleaning the floor. “Is there a problem at work?” you asked again while straightening my shirt. I remained silent. You caressed the scar on my chest. “I like this,” you always say.

That afternoon, we made love. As I stroked your shoulder-length hair while gazing at the flower tattoo on your left breast, you said, “Fortunately, I kept the plates in the drawer.” I knew you wanted to ask again. Or at least, you hoped I would respond. However, I did not say anything. At that moment, I felt a trace of blood on your delicate finger. Perhaps from the glasses.

Now, I can only light a cigarette. Did I smoke then? I wonder. When you were cleaning up the glass shards? When we made love? Afterwards? As expected, you do not answer. I exhale smoke from my mouth. I try to count how many dozen glasses have broken. Perhaps twelve or thirteen. Certainly more than seven, but less than twenty. I want to ask you, because you are always the one who cleans up the mess. However, I doubt you will answer.

I turn my face outside. Down there, children are swimming. The pool is never empty. Although I have never been there myself. Sounds can be heard. Not very clear. Perhaps there is laughter. There is also a mother cheering for her child. And perhaps, there is the sound of water being splashed.

If I remember correctly, you often observed them from here. Staring for a long time. While smoking. Letting the smoke swirl around you as if enveloping you. Once, after making love, you asked, “What do you think life is, dear?”

I pondered for a moment. Then I answered, “Life, yes, life. I do not understand your question.”

“I feel that life is suffering.” After hearing that, I slowly embraced you.

“No.” I kissed your cheek. “Why do you suffer? I am here,” I teased.

“You know why I suffer.” I asked myself. Do I really know? Or do I not know? Or am I pretending not to know? Or pretending to know? If I am not mistaken, you continued to ask, “Do you want to have children?” You said that without looking at me. I did not answer. “What are you thinking about? Is there a problem lately?” you asked again, while looking at me.

“There is nothing,” I replied. You, wearing only a green bra, responded with laughter. “Why?” I smiled. I think your laughter is always contagious. You shook your head while inhaling your cigarette. “Come on, what’s so funny?”

After exhaling the smoke, you said, “Of course you have no problems. If you did, you would be smashing glasses.” I, still smiling, began to take a cigarette, placing it between my lips. You lit my cigarette. “You can talk to me if you have a problem. I am tired of cleaning up glass shards all the time.”

I merely inhaled my cigarette. If I am not mistaken, the wind was just as strong then. The curtains were dancing. However, I did not look at the children down there. I focused on you. Observing the flower on your left breast. Staring at the trace of blood that always appears on your delicate finger. Watching the smoke escape through the open window.

“Besides, dear, this apartment is too small. I want to have a house. Your money will not be enough for that if I have to keep buying a dozen new glasses.” You said that without glancing at me. Perhaps at that moment you were looking at a little girl swimming. Or a boy who was cold. I do not know what is on your mind. I never asked.

I stood up this time. I extinguished my cigarette. You remained frozen, silent. Goodness. How long will you remain silent? I lay back on the bed. I really want to try to find those glasses again. However, I have already checked the entire room three times. Or perhaps five. I am a little forgetful. Although the incident just happened. My memory is indeed somewhat weak.

I inhaled the scent of the sheets. It still carries your perfume. It reminds me of a certain event. Strangely, this time it is very clear in my mind. Like yesterday. No, like it just happened. Sometimes, I imagine that event repeating itself, and I could change it. How soft your skin is. How you touch me. Here. In this bed.

I was holding you from behind, kissing your neck. “Will you marry me?” you asked. I did not answer. I remember this was not the first time you asked such a question. You pulled your body away from me and then looked into my eyes sharply. “I need an answer, dear.”

I never wanted to answer that question. Until this moment. “No.”

You smiled. Then you stood up. Took a cigarette and lit it immediately. Your hands were trembling. Your whole body was shaking. “After all these years?” You looked like you were holding something back. You walked toward the wardrobe. Putting on your clothes. Blue. I remember clearly. Blue.

“You know, I cannot.”

“You can! You just do not want to.”

“I cannot.”

“Coward! You just do not want to lose something.” I remember there was a long pause before you continued, “You just do not want to lose the glasses in your house.” I merely inhaled my cigarette. “I will leave.”

If I may regret, I would regret my answer: “It’s fine. Go away.” For some reason, you complied. You locked your wardrobe. Did you take the key? That is the only thing I forgot. That night, I slept soundly. It did not occur to me to stop you near the door. I did not want to chase you. Perhaps to hold you in the elevator. Or to ask you to get into the car at the city intersection. I did not think about that.

I woke up at two in the afternoon. Only then did I realize you had truly left. That day was Sunday. I did not need to go out. I received a delivery from you that you had left in the kitchen. A dozen glasses. Along with a piece of paper. ‘I know that someday these glasses will break. So I hid another dozen. Call me if you need them.’ Unfortunately, I forgot your number.

My phone rang this time. My wife was calling. “Hello, dear… I am still out of town… I will be home in two days… A package?” I saw you walking toward me. “It contains glasses and an invitation?” You reached the bed. Caressing the scar on my chest.

You smiled. No wonder you look beautiful in that dress, I said. From the phone, I heard the sound of breaking glass.