Broken Like Glass

by E. J. McCay

  My lips tremble and I brush my hand across the waterfall running down my face. “I’m alone you know. I’m all alone.”

  Papa cups my heart and blows cool air on it trying to put out the burning fire. It’s His way of saying I’m not alone.

  “But I am. I am alone. I got you, but no one on this earth. You hear me?” I yell the question into the expanse of the forest like a lion growling on the plains.

  Papa squeezes my insides like He’s trying to hug me but I feel like my muffin’s getting busted.

  “If they knew my dark parts, they’d never talk to me again. All that blackness that covers me like an oil slick would just ooze out onto them too. Then they’d be all black and ugly and worthless…” I choke on the last word. It comes out in sputters and spit.

  Then another realization hits me with the force of a tidal wave. Uriah can’t fix me. My fence is in splinters and you just can’t fix that kinda damage. You just have to start over. I don’t know what hurts worse, me being all ugly blackness or the fact that Uriah deserves better than me.

  “Papa, why’d you do this?” I look in the direction of where Papa is sitting. I see His face. He’s smiling and welcoming and all I can think is I want to just pound on Him. I don’t want Him smiling at me. I’m so mad now.

  “Why’d you have to let him bump into me? Why? Don’t you love him, too? Don’t you know he needs better than the trash heap I am?”

  Papa speaks calmly. “I love Uriah just as much as I love you. You think you’re the only one that prays and asks for answers? He prayed for you and I answered him.”

  “But why’s he wanting me? I’m no good. I stab daddys in the Thriftway.”

  Papa sits quietly. Those squirrels He’s fashioned feel Him here too. They dance like I’ve never seen before. The birds join in, too. A new, lighter, cooler breeze blows. It touches my face and it’s like Papa is caressing my tears away, but I’m not ready for niceness.

  “Why you gotta be like this? I’m not ready for all this stuff. I don’t want to deal with all this stuff. I came here to visit daddy and leave. Why’d you let me do that? Why’d you let me get myself in trouble? I thought you were my friend. I thought you loved me. I thought you wanted good things for me. I thought…” My ugly cry comes back even more vicious and I kneel in the corner of the deck and bow my head. The wounds split open, puss pours out, and I just can’t do anything but lean back against the rickety railing and hope it doesn’t break.

  My pain is like a disease I can’t find a cure for and I cry. I cry for the life I think I should have had, for the parents I wanted, for the grandparents I needed, and for all the things I think Papa has stolen from me.

  I cry.

  And I cry.

  And I cry some more.

  By the time I stop crying, I can feel Papa telling me He loves me and He’ll be back later. I don’t know what later means, but I understand. My company right now is utterly horrible and I wouldn’t want to sit with me either.

  Papa says, “I’m not leaving because you’re bad company. I always love you. I love you enough to give you someone you think is too good for you. I love you enough to give you trials and heartbreak because when it’s all over you’ll be my shining glory and anyone and everyone looking your direction will see my fingers everywhere in your life.”

  “Why you gotta be so nice to me? Surely my jagged pieces are enough to cut you too. Besides, can’t people see your glory without me stabbing my daddy?”

  An old hymn springs to mind. No, no I’m definitely not skilled to understand what God has willed or what God has planned. The song plays like a lullaby in my head as Papa gives me space.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When I woke up Sunday morning, I had no intention whatsoever of stepping foot in this church, but here I am, steppin’ and sittin’. I take a spot in a pew in the back of the church in the far corner with the hope that I’m ignored until the service is over.

  Papa gets a dirty look from me when I cast my eyes skyward for a moment. Why He made me come is lost on me. What can I get here that I can’t get in the cabin? I know where you live, ya know, I say to Him in my head.

  I feel Him settle over me and my spirit. “Fine,” I mumble under my breath. “I’m here, but I don’t have to be happy about it.” I cross my arms over my chest and slouch down in the seat.

  Uriah is walking down the aisle to the front of the church when he looks back over his shoulder and sees me. I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder because the smile he flashes me is something worthy of an Olympic medal. The girly parts of my brain squeal in delight. The other two percent yell at it to shut up.

  He continues walking to the front of the church and I look for who might be the recipient of all Uriah has to offer, and I see Misty. I feel like someone has come along and stolen all my air. My head feels light.

  My brain starts yelling at me, this time the girly parts and the not-so-girly parts gang up on me. You said he deserved better than you, remember? I don’t know who’s asking, me or Papa. Surely, if he deserves better than me, he deserves better than Misty too. While watching him talk to her, Jenny Walman joins them.

  Misty cuts her eyes in my direction and the smile greeting me is anything but sweet or friendly. Shots have been fired over my bow, and I’m sinking into the ocean. Jenny waves and I limply wave back.

  Uriah is waving at me to come join them and I flat out refuse. My butt is planted in this corner and unless he has pie I’m not moving. I shake my head a few times, and then look down to avoid his insistance.

  I guess he takes the hint because when I look the next time, he’s sauntering in my direction and sits down next to me. He bumps me with his shoulder and smiles. “You coulda come said hello.”

  “Didn’t want to lose my spot.” I pretend like I’m reading an old bulletin.

  “You didn’t want to deal with Misty.”

  “That too.”

  “She’s not horrible.”

  I can’t help but drop the bulletin in my lap and look at him. “Then explain to me what I did to make her hate me. I never did anything to her, but she sure has gone out of her way to make sure I know she doesn’t like me.”

  Uriah sits quiet.

  That’s right, soldier, you got nothing. “See. Even you don’t have an answer.”

  “Have you ever thought about sitting your butt down and asking her?”

  “Mice don’t ask the cat why it’s hungry. They just go down smooth with catsup.”

  Uriah bounces with laughter. “I don’t know if I can sit by you during church. If I laugh while Pastor Jeffrey is preaching he’ll probably take me out behind the shed and wear me out.”

  “Wouldn’t he have to catch you first?”

  “Seriously, Lilly, maybe you just sit down with Misty one day and ask. Maybe you did something and you didn’t even realize it and it hurt her feelings.”

  “What if she just hates me because she’s a mean, vindictive, hag of a girl and her lot in life is to pester me until I’m dead.”

  “Then at least you’ll know and you won’t have to wonder anymore. Maybe you might have a good friend that loves you after all’s said and done.”

  I snort. “Sure. Me and Misty, friends. That’ll be the day.”

  “You never know. Isn’t Papa all about miracles?” He makes a point to emphasize Papa.

  “Walking on water would be easier than being friends with Misty.”

  People are filing in now. I haven’t been here since I got into town so anyone who hasn’t already seen me on Wednesday makes their trek over to hug me and tell me hi. See, Papa, this is why I didn’t want to come to church. I hear His light, happy laugh tickles my heart. Ugh, Papa, just stop.

  Pastor Jeffrey takes to the pulpit and everyone hushes. He bows his head and says a prayer and then Jenny Walman gets up and leads the singing. I should have known that sugary pile of bones would lead the singing. She asks us to stand and inwardly I groan, but I do it so I don’t have to deal with Uriah g
iving me grief.

  We sit, stand, sing, stand, sit, pray, and then Pastor Jeffrey gets up to the pulpit again and pulls out his Bible from a hidden cubby hole. He flips it open and tells everyone to turn to Romans 1: 28-32. The title of his sermon is Loving Evil Instead of Good. I know he’s talking to me when he looks at me and Bo, sitting next to his momma, turns to stare right at me.

  All I wanna do is hide. Uriah must feel my readiness to flee because he puts a hand on my knee and gives me a look. He leans over, his lips next to my ear, and says, “I’ve got you.” He pulls back and his eyes lock with mine. Then he turns his attention to the rest of the church. His eyes narrow, his jaw flexes, and the look on his face lets everyone there know he means business. Mrs. Pendleton is looking too, only she’s beaming at Uriah. Her boy has done exactly what she’s taught him to do: be brave when the whole world is throwing rocks.

  If Pastor Jeffrey has anything else to say to me today, he’ll have to do it in private. Uriah Pendleton has spoken without saying a word and it was loud enough for everyone to hear.

  My shoulders sag, I put my head down, and I wish like I’ve never wished before that Papa will bring someone worthy of Uriah because I am not her. I know I’m not. My darkness is bleeding outside of the edge getting Uriah messy. I feel ashamed and rotten.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Uriah asks me to lunch after church, but I don’t want to stay in town. He says I can come eat with him and his momma, but I don’t want that either. The idea that I could spread my trash in her house just bugs the tar out of me.

  He reluctantly drops me off at the cabin, and I disappear in the house instead of watching him drive away. I wonder if I could watch him drive away if I knew he was never coming back. The thought slaps me hard.

  I switch out of my church clothes into my pajamas and take my place outside. It’s just me and the woods again until the movie projector in my head starts replaying the events at church.

  Pastor Jeffrey in his Sunday best, Bo in his even better Sunday best, his momma, and the entire congregation twisting their necks to look at my train. Tell me again, Papa, how going to church was good for me.

  I stew and chew. I get mad and madder and maddest still. I’m steaming before long. Those people don’t know me. They know what I show them. They know what they think they know and nothing more. They throw stones at my glass house and think the stones pass through their own without causing any damage.

  The birds have stopped singing and the squirrels are staring at me with their little beady eyes. “What you haven’t seen anyone mad before?” I ask them. They just keep looking at me. Tails twitching.

  I pad into the kitchen and pull out a soda and pop the top off. The cool liquid rolls down my throat, cold and frothy. I head back out to the deck with it and a bag of chips that were stashed in a cabinet.

  My anger is simmering at the top of my pot and I can feel the water about to boil over. I open the bag of chips and pop one in my mouth and chase it with a swig of the soda.

  Papa comes sliding in and casually sits down next to me. “I’m in no mood to play, Papa.”

  He doesn’t say anything, so we sit in silence while I eat my chips and drink my soda.

  April is such a moody month, I think to myself as an almost warm breeze blows by. The thought strikes me as funny because I’ve been so moody. I begin to laugh and it turns into a cackle. Now that I’m laughing I can’t seem to turn it off. I’m still mad and giggling like my jackets should come in white and buckle in the back.

  Papa still sits quietly. I look at Him, laughing my head off, drinking my soda, eating my chips. I’ve gone nuts. “Papa, what am I to do about that homework?” I ask, still laughing like an idiot. “Why don’t I miss momma?”

  The laughter dies in my throat. The sobering thought wipes all my funny away. I want to know the answer to the question as much as Chrissy does, but I don’t know the answer.

  “Why Papa? Tell me why?”

  Papa is eerily quiet. Maybe He doesn’t know the answer either. I feel a sharp prick in my heart and I try to think real hard about momma. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of her.

  She died. The end.

  I wrack my brain trying to think why her death doesn’t bother me. It should. The woman raised me as her own, gave me food and shelter, snuggled me at night. “Wait,” I say out loud. “She didn’t snuggle me at night.”

  My head hurts. All this thinking and laughing and being mad has given me a headache that makes my eyes want to bleed. I try to remember if I’ve got anything and I go to my room and rummage in the nightstand drawer. The bottle is childproof, so I slip the top off with ease, and pop two of them in my mouth and take a drink of my soda.

  I pad back into the kitchen. Those chips just aren’t doing it for me. The cabinets are stocked with all sorts of can goods. I find bread, peanut butter, and jelly and go for the simple things in life: a PB&J.

  Back out on the deck, with my sandwich and another soda, I’m in a frame of mind to not think. If only it were that simple.

  Papa is still sitting in the chair. Still waiting for me to find an answer to a question I didn’t even know I had until I got back to my hometown.

  I finish my sandwich before I do any real thinking because for once I’d like to eat a meal in peace. The peanut butter sticks in my teeth and I take a long drink. Man, Uriah really knew what he was doing when he bought these sodas. I sure hope I can save one for him the next time he’s here.

  Clouds are rolling in and I can smell rain in the air. These evening showers are nice, and I know Texas needs the rain. All that thinking I’ve been putting off comes rolling in too.

  Papa’s been waiting.

  “Why don’t I miss my momma? Why doesn’t it hurt like the dickens when I think about her being gone?” I ask out loud. Maybe the birds or the squirrels or something in the distance can give me an answer.

  I certainly don’t have an easy answer.

  Nothing about this question feels easy either. I play the memories I have of momma and me together. She only busted me real bad once or twice. Most of the time she played referee between me and daddy.

  I start to touch on a memory of daddy and force it back. I can only deal with one devil at a time, I say in my mind. Momma’s face floats to the front. I see her smile.

  Momma and daddy were older when they adopted me. In pictures of when momma was young, she always looked sad, even when she was smiling. Daddy was her third husband. She told me he was a rough man when they met and by my thinking he wasn’t much different when I came along.

  On those rare occasions when momma and I did talk, she’d tell me she came to Jesus later in life. She’d tell me she was sitting in church and she was about to leave and Jesus told her if she left, she’d die on the spot. So, she went to the altar and prayed and accepted Jesus in her heart.

  Papa never struck me as someone to give those kinds of ultimatums, but I never dared tell momma that. She’d have busted me for sure.

  Mama was short like me. Daddy called her a wasp of a woman. She had a sharp tongue and she always had an opinion. There was never a time she didn’t think someone wanted to hear it either.

  Did she love me? I think so. We went to garage sales together, we went on trips to other states to see family, we laughed sometimes, and most of the time it was peaceful in the house. So why didn’t I miss her?

  One girl I went to college with lost her momma and I thought the world had come to an end for her. I had no frame of reference for what she was going through and every time I tried to think of something to say, I’d fall flat. My momma was gone and I was just fine.

  Papa, what’s wrong with me that I don’t miss my momma? Doesn’t it mean something is wrong with me if I don’t? Please answer me. Please give me an answer so I can tell Chrissy tomorrow.

  The breeze picks up, it’s got a sharpness to it now and the clouds that were rolling in have taken over the sky. I peak out from under the roof line and see scary looking clouds.
We’re about to have rain that blows sideways.

  I feel Papa hold me. It’s a warmth that travels over my entire body. The only answer I have for the question is that me and momma just didn’t have that kind of relationship. I don’t know why. I may never know why, and it’s okay. Sometimes people just don’t connect.

  Papa says to be grateful I had someone that cared for me the best they knew how. Now, that I believe. Mama cared for me the best she knew how and with all she had. She wanted the best for me and her best just wasn’t my best and that’s the way it is. I left for college, got good grades, and I was living a pretty happy life until I came home and knifed my daddy.

  I start to think on daddy and Papa says I’m not ready for that yet. My heart needs some shoring up before I head into that dark tunnel.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next day, my therapist appointment goes better than I expect, but I’m done by the time my hour is over. Chrissy sends me on my way with more homework: to think of the best time I ever had with my momma. She doesn’t see me roll my eyes as I walk out the door.

  Outside, in the fresh air, I try to let the sun burn away what I’ve spent the last hour talking about. Unfortunately for me, the sun doesn’t work that way so I take myself to the Kettlefish. Fancy is standing behind the bar drying glasses and talking to Mr. Marlin. I’m starting to wonder if he lives here.

  I steer clear of him, too. After my reaction at church, I don’t want anywhere near him. His eyes catch mine and send me warning signs I can’t ignore. I sit as far from him as humanly possible in the small confines of the bar.

  Fancy isn’t a dummy and she sees the exchange. She stops drying glasses and walks to the table in the far corner I’ve now claimed. “Is there something you need to tell me about Marlin?”