Haven • H.S.

19. We Break

Haven- 19

"...but i'm holdin' on for dear life, won't look down, won't open my eyes. keep my glass full until morning light. cause i'm just holdin' on for tonight..."

Ella.

        I fiddled with the beaten copy of Jane Eyre in my hands, studying the auditorium that surrounds me, watching my colleagues copy the notes from the board hurriedly. My English professor, like many others before him, wrote without repercussion. And instead of bothering to wait until we had a decent grasp on what was even coming out of his mouth, rather than what was coming from the squeaky chalk he wrote with, he continued uncaring. I had finished early, which seemed like a feat within itself, so now... I waited, watching the clock tick until it was nearly time to leave.

        When I, as well as Prof. Gerald heard collective sighs and saw relaxing positions take place, class went on. "We are glass, my friends," he gratingly spoke, rearranging the glasses atop his nose and rubbing a hand down his aged face. "It is not that we are rained upon, hailed upon or covered in sleet that we finally succumb to our weaknesses. We are glass; it is when we are finally thrown harshly, remorse all but forgotten, that we eventually fall and shatter to our untimely death... We are not plastic; we do not bend; we do not allow prodding or twisting and poking. We are glass! We are hollow within ourselves, we are unforgiving in our care. And we break." He finished with a slam of a fist against his podium, his eyes hard.

        "You decide when you break, folks. You decide when when life breaks your glass," he continued, quieter this time, "And guess what? We take flowers from their homes, killing them, only to give them to people who don't love us. And they are glass! They are vases made out of glass, and they hold those flowers only for those above us to forget about watering them. They forget about watering us, because we're just glass; we're just the vases that hold dead flowers."

        I sat back, enamored, mouth parted. He went on, "I want each of you to write a paper about life. And I'm saying 'life' because it's vague, and it's preposterously massive in its confines, yet treacherously limited. I want you to tell me about life within those pages, I want you to work with what I've said today. Talk to me, tell me the ruthless things you've endured. Make the blank pages not blank. Embank the inner you! And, for God's sake, don't beat around the freaking bush with this, or your grade will show it. This assignment is going on your first quarter marking-- bring it in on time or don't bring it at all!"

        "This is not a matter to dissect. You either eat this lesson whole, or you don't chew at all." He clasped his hands in front of him, making slow eye contact with everyone. When some students had picked up their pens again, scribbling across the papers in front of them, my hands stayed unoccupied. Professor Gerald sighed. "Life, guys. I just want you to write about life."

        And, the bell rang. Class dismissed.

__________________

       
        My knuckles tapped Harry's door lightly, knocking thrice. My mind was a world traveler, visiting different areas of land, staying in some longer than others, as I stood waiting for him to open up. My English professor's words and the underlying definition in them ran through me like a tremor. Life. He wanted me to write about life, and the only way I knew how to do that was to visit the main event in mine.

        Harry.

       He had become the catalyst to all my answers; he had become the one thing that helped transform my life that sooner rather than later he became the word. Everything I thought of came circling back to him. And while it scared me minutely, it comforted me more.