Dinnerware

            Aided by the sudsy lubricant and clouds of lime-scented bubbles, the porcelain bowl slipped out of June’s wet and wrinkled hands. Water spun off as the dish twirled in the air, a ballerina covered in intricate flowers of green and blue. It hit the countertop, the impact jarring it upwards. As it reached its zenith, her fingers reached towards it, grasping at the happy ending. But the frictionless surface evaded that hope, and plummeted towards the ground.

            Crash. Porcelain met granite tile. What was once whole became two separate pieces, with enough missing chunks that no amount of epoxy would make the cracks disappear.

            June crouched over the wreckage, resting a trembling chin on her knees. She hugged her legs close to her chest and strands of brown hair swept over eyes that were welling up with tears. Even though her wedding had been almost a year ago, her once complete set had just been diminished to a single bowl.

            Both of the previous breaks had been accidents as well. The first flowered-wreathed bowl had met its demise one night when it had been knocked off the counter as ice-cream was being served. The second she had thoughtlessly placed on the burner of the stove; the successive explosion had sent a bruise-inducing piece into her side. Even though she had been upset at herself during those times, she had had at least enough bowls for the two of them. Until now.

            “Is everything okay in there?” Her husband’s voice wafted in from the other room.

            It occurred to her that if she didn’t answer, Don might come to investigate. He just might see her sitting on the ground and crouch down to hold her like he once had. But on the other hand, the voice inside argued, if she remained quiet, he might just stay put, chalking the noise up to mere imagination.

            “Everything is fine,” she managed to croak out.

She remained on the floor, teary mist clouding her vision. But her hope remained unanswered. He didn’t come.

Gingerly, she picked up the two larger pieces from off the floor. After placing them on the counter, she grabbed a long-handled broom from the corner of the kitchen. She swept vigorously, each stroke beating back her tears. After dumping the fragments into the trash, she paused, what should she do? After mulling over the decision for several moments, she opened the lid to the trash once more and threw the two halves away. She would just have to replace it.

She wiped her hands dry on her faded jeans as she walked into the next room. There he was, head borrowed into one of his detective novels. She didn’t understand his preoccupation with the subject; he had a bookcase full of fifteen dollar paperbacks and watched numerous TV shows concerning the subject each week. And yet, the clues that stared him in the face were invisible.

“I need to go out, Don,” she announced.

He didn’t respond right away, a normal response. She said it louder, and he looked up. His dark brown eyes were glazed over, the product of being wrapped in another reality. But recognition flickered in background.

“Is everything alright? You don’t look so good.”

She sighed. “I’m okay. I just need to go out for a little.”

He stared at her for a second or two. For an instant, he looked prepared to re-enter his new reality, but then seemed to make up his mind about something.

“Let me grab my coat, I’ll go with you.” He had found a thin slip of wrinkled paper, most likely the receipt from a recent trip to Barnes and Nobles, and placed it between two pages as the book closed.

She wanted to protest, she didn’t think she could hold herself together with him there. But he had already picked up both of their coats, one black and structured and the other navy blue with a faux-fur collar, from off of the back of their thrift store couch. Sighing, she grabbed hers out of his hand and slipped it onto her shoulders.

***

She wished she had worn gloves to cover her thin fingers; it took a ride longer than the one into town to get the heater going in the car.

“So, you mind telling me why we are doing here at Bed Bath and Beyond?”

They were sitting in the car in the parking lot. He hadn’t asked during the trip as she had driven the car through the mid-afternoon traffic, probably his mind had been on something he had read.

She nervously looked at him. “Well, we need a new set of bowls.”

Realization came to his eyes. “The crash… Darn it, June, did you break another one?”

She looked away, tears were forming around the edges of her vision.

He muttered a few choice words, then popped his door open.

“Well, you coming?” He didn’t wait for her answer as he let the door slam shut.

She wanted to just cry in the car. But, remembering her resolve, she got out and followed Don into the store.

Dinnerware was in the back, not that long of a walk. Don’s brisk walk made it hard for her to keep up, his black jacket repelling the two “How may I help you?” as soon as they had been uttered. She imagined that the clerks’ faces of boredom held little sympathy for her as she and Don hurried down the aisle.

After a few minutes of searching, she found her bowls. The green and blue flowers danced pristinely on the glossy surface. She picked one out of the rack, holding it gingerly between her two hands; no blemish from nicks and bumps lay on its surface. Her bowls had once felt like this, waiting to become a part of the history of her family.

“Wow, I didn’t know your aunt had paid that much for that gift.” He had just noticed the price-tag. “There is no way we are spending fifteen bucks for a bowl.”

He moved to take it away, but her fingers held on.

With tears were trickling down her cheeks and resolve moving in her chest, she said, “When will you ever let me have something that I want, Don? I never say anything about all of your books and how you never help out and how you are always absorbed in some different world…”

She looked into his eyes, and her resolve left her. She thrust the bowl into his hands, and with tears falling freely from her cheeks, she ran out of the store into the cold night air.

The car was locked, of course. She hugged her coat tight around her and let her shoulders shake, both from shivers and from shame. Why had she even come? She felt herself spinning round and round and she wondered if there would be fingers reaching out to save her from this fall before she too lay in pieces on the ground.

A few minutes later, she glanced up to see him coming towards her, a small bag in his right hand. Through the afternoon light, she could see that the bag had some weight to it; could it be the bowl? Upon his arrival, he moved to wipe away her tears.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He kissed her on the forehead, like he once had done months ago. She fell into his arms, and let the sobs pour out. He placed his arms around her, the bulge in the bag laying there against her back. As she stood in his arms, she couldn’t help but hope that just maybe she had escaped the crash.