Chapter 18

18

She has broken something of value.

I hear the crash, the shattering of glass, the tears and the thud of her knees connecting with the floor. I sit, listening to her sobs as they begin to subside.

I don't ask if she's ok. I already know the answer.

The door to our bedroom opens and she emerges, hair slightly messed, saline stains line her face. She doesn't look at me and heads to the end table where her purse is waiting.

She rummages. I turn the pages of a New Yorker. I hear the rattle of her keys as she pulls them from the bag.

"I need to go to the store." Her voice is raspy, exasperated, fed up with my shit. "There's nothing to eat around here."

She's right. We haven't been eating much at home lately.

I can feel her looking at me now, begging for recognition, but I can't pull my eyes away from an article about Joan Baez.

After she leaves I put the magazine down and head to the bedroom, curious to see the damage I've done. Broken, still scattered where it fell, is a picture frame.

Several months ago we took an outing to a sculpture garden. The day, like Jamie, was gorgeous in its poetic simplicity. The sun warmed us as we walked hand in hand, commenting on the sculptor's artistry.

I had been there, numerous times with numerous women. None of them laughed like Jamie.

Located in the center of the garden was a statue of Icarus falling from the sky, wings tattered, wax warming from the sun. Her eyes lit when she saw it, like my heart when I saw her.

"This is hauntingly beautiful."

I was a poet once, carefully molding my words, filing down their features, timing my words perfectly like a gentle breeze in June.

"Let's take a picture together in front of it." She says to me. "I want to remember this forever."

I agree and we have a man who looks like a college professor come over to snap it.

Now, that picture lies face down on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, wet from Jamie's tears.

She will never see that statue the same way again. We will forever be in free fall, two poetic souls reaching too high for the sun. I begin to pick up the broken pieces, placing the glass in my hand. I cut my finger. My blood covers Jamie's tears. I realize that she will be better off without me.