broken
By jen bellefleur
21 Sep 2009
...she sat at the kitchen table and ate coffee grounds with a spoon, and wept intermittently. what was she really, except a once-fine cup with holes punched in it; people poured things into her and they ran right out again. who was that girl, in cutoff jeans who had stood up in a convertible going 65 miles an hour? he had scolded her, why did she want to die that way? no, she said, i only wanted to fly. she no longer believed that she was safe in the world, that the world was a safe place. she no longer believed in god or going out of business sales or dark roast coffee. her hair colorist had seen the truth as he parted her hair in quarter inch sections; he'd stopped moving and speaking for a moment and she saw his face in the mirror. they were no longer under grace. she waited for the baby to wake, or for him to get home, or the sound of a bird smashing into the picture window to resume breathing. she opened packets of artificial sweetener by the dozen and ate them, some faint memory of their carcinogenic properties on the tip of her tongue just in front of the white powder. the blue stuff was safe, it was the pink stuff that caused cancer, the pink parts, the girl parts of her that had caused all the trouble. she had been a woman once, someone who spoke with confidence about herself and the world and the people she loved. she wondered recently if the oven could possibly stay hot long enough to bake a sheet of cookies and tested it with the pile of letters that invariably caught on fire. she inhaled the smoke deeply, the burning paper and polaroid chemicals a salve for the wicked. what had she done? what had happened to her? she struggled to remember, to find the place in the movie in her head where she had gone from heroine to heroin. she looked for a moment where she'd become less blonde, less loved; looked for the face of the man who had punched the holes in the cup. the baby awoke with a small cry, and she gasped a gulp of fresh air; tears streaming down her face, she swallowed and rose from the table.
4 responses
-
peter said (22 Sep 2009):
what a wonderful surreal, real, whimsical story, what wonderful photos ... from now on i will say 'good morning, how are you' to each cup i use the morning to have my first, second, third coffee .-)
-
Maura Wolfson-Foster gave props (22 Sep 2009):
Jen, no words. Just a sincere thank you for touching me so deeply.
-
Rhio9 (Rhio Hirsch) said (24 Sep 2009):
yeah i like it a lot. many emotional shifts and turns but it's all consistent. did you dream last night?
-
John Linton gave props (14 Dec 2009):
An amazing collection of photos (and a WICKEDcool story).
