A lesson in Herstory - The Broken Vase

I walked for miles and miles before I wound up at the clearing we had agreed to meet upon. It was about fifteen feet away from the lake, which even to this day was as clean and pure as the day the Earth came into being. I approached from the thicket, scratching my bare arms and wondering if it was poison ivy. His back was towards me as he sat on the grass facing the lake, humming a tune I had almost forgotten. I joined his humming and he turned around and asked "Finally, what took you so long?"

I gave him a wry smile and told him I got caught up in something, but I made sure I would be free this weekend especially for him. "You know how long we've been planning this, I wouldn't miss it for the world," I said, and meant it. "Yeah," he said, spreading himself out on the grass. "You've always been good at keeping your promises." We sat there in silence for a while, listening to the birds in the thicket, the ducks treading into the water, annoyed by our presence. He took a deep breath like always when there's a silence. I watched him as he closed his eyes and lay his head back. "So when do you want to head out?" I asked, sensing the response already. "What's the rush?" he asked with his eyes still closed. I moved to spread out next to him. "Well, I'm here so let's go...and by the way, what are we doing for dinner?". He pointed towards the lake and said "How about one of those ducks?". "Oh please, I don't do duck...you know I don't do duck." "Ok fine, we'll get something on the way back."

His nonchalance towards just about everything annoyed me and yet made me envious at the same time. I observed him as he enjoyed the cool breeze, not a care in the world, and I wondered "How do you get to be like that" to myself. I looked over the lake, at the sun setting in, the sky alive with different colors of the rainbow. We stayed back for another ten minutes, just like that, in silence. "Ok, let's go," he said, dusting the grass stains off his jeans as he got up.

We started walking east, avoiding the branches that reached out and grazed our bodies. The ground was covered with fall leaves and dead twigs, crunching beneath our feet as we treadded along. I grabbed his arm to stop him. "Wait wait wait, look at that," I exclaimed excitedly. Underneath an oak tree, a colorful array of flowers bloomed from the earth. "Those don't look like they grew here by themselves," he remarked,"Looks like someone planted them." "Oh, who cares," I said approaching the magnificent arrangement. Bright orange lillies, flaming red tulips and sunny daffodils greeted my aesthetic senses. "Oh no, don't do that," he chastised as I began plucking them out. "Look, they belong to..."Clarice Wingerson, 1956-1987" he proclaimed, reading a headstone at the foot of the tree. "Well, I'm sure dear old Clarice won't mind if I just take a couple..." I muttered as I made my way around the setting. Finally after I had gathered a nice looking bunch, we continued to make our way out of the thicket.

The rest of the walk was quiet, except for the crunching of leaves and occasional sniffle he seemed to be developing from the approaching cold. "Ah, here we are," he said as the trees gave way to the old log cabin. It hadn't been touched for years, and still needed some work. "That small shed over there collapsed about a week ago when I moved in," he said, nodding towards a pile of wood and dust. "I still have to sift through it for some tools to fix this place up." I waited patiently as he struggled to get the front door open. "Well, you've set it up pretty nice," I said, walking around the living room and kitchen area. The furniture was still covered with stained white sheets, except for a solitary sofa which was also stained and had the stuffing protruding from one side. The kitchen was tiny, with a rusted stove and a counter top covered with ants parading around the cookie jar. "Well, you should see this place in the mornings," he called out from somewhere back towards the rooms. "The light just fills this place up and it's really the most amazing feeling in the world." He came into the living room and started yanking the sheets off the other furniture. "Hey, do you have something for my flowers?" I asked, poking around in the cabinets. "Uh, yeah, hold on a minute." He dissappeared into the back again and emerged with a fairly large glass vase. "Don't ask, I found it on the dresser in one of the rooms, it's been sitting there for quite some time," he said, running water over it in the sink. "Oh, it's perfect," I said, setting my flowers into the vase.

We talked about different things...he stayed quiet most of the time unless I specifically asked him something. It was different now between us, he was distant and I....was confused. "Well, anyways, so what's for dinner?" I asked, glancing at my watch. "It's too late to go out for something," he said, making his way over to the kitchen, "But I have some canned beans, some fresh vegetables and...yeah, that's about it." He peered into the cabinets one more time, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. "Ok, well, I'm not that hungry anyways," I lied. "We'll just toss it all together and come up with something edible."

I watched as he lit the stove (which proved to be no easy task) and stirred the beans into a pot. "These flowers look ostentatious."
"Ostentatious?"
"Yeah, not really my taste."
"I think they look beautiful."
"I'm a simple man and I like simple things."

I looked at him, but he avoided my gaze and immersed himself in making a salad. I got up and walked over to where he was standing. "What's wrong?" I asked softly. He sighed and shook his head. "Why do you always ask me that? Nothing is wrong, go back and I'll fix you dinner." I ignored him and stayed, watching him, wanting an answer, waiting for him as I had always been waiting. I tried to ignore the questions that kept rising in my head, ignore the gnawing urge to tear my hair out of sheer frustration and scream "WHAT DO YOU WANT, TELL ME, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!!?!?" But instead I moved to the other side of the counter.

He came back to where I was, the counter top with my flower vase between us. He looked at me on top of the lillies and tulips, finally making eyes contact. I stared back, my eyes saying what my voice couldn't. He took it all in. We stood like that for a while, the smell of the flowers withering away to stale beans cooking in the kitchen. I couldn't take it anymore, so I turned around and walked back to the couch. The beans started to burn, and as he turned around, his arm knocked over the vase.

The glass shattered on the wooden floor with a loud crash. The water flowed around the flowers, soaking them wet. The tulips, lillies and daffodils were splayed across the floor like dying victims of a hurricane. I walked over to pick them up, a glass splinter piercing my skin, drawing blood. He didn't say anything, just took the beans off the stove and turned it off.