Fragility

Dawn of Change

A gentle light from the summer’s sun peeked through my curtains, lighting up my room as I stirred in my bed. After yawning and stretching, I opened my eyes to the start of a brand new day in the middle of July. Sitting up, my tousled hair fell around my shoulders as I heard the familiar voice of mother drifting in from the hallway. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and mom’s gentle voice floated into my room. She always brought spring in here.

Mother stepped inside, a tray in her hands. The inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. “I thought you might like a cup of your favorite hot chocolate,” she said, placing the tray on my desk. “I made it just the way you like it.”

“Morning, Mother,” I replied, my voice still drowsy. I stretched my arms above my head, my muscles gradually waking up as I shook off the remnants of sleep. My mom approached, taking a seat on the edge of my bed, her presence calming and reassuring.

“Rose, you know how we’ve been looking into schools for you to attend?”

I nodded to her as my interest piqued. Mom and I had recently moved to California, leaving behind the familiar halls of my old school. The transition had been challenging and finding the right school was crucial to making real friends and settling into my new life. Fortridge wasn’t for me, everyone there is plastic, everyone. You have plastics, metals and elastics. Then there’s me, glass. I like to categorize persons based on their layers of who they are. My mother does the same, she grew me this way so that I could protect myself against people who’d wanna hurt me and damage me. If it wasn’t for her, I would be broken just like her.

“After much consideration and research on different schools, I found the perfect one for you.”

My heart skipped a beat, a mix of nerves and excitement rushing through my veins. The search for the perfect school had been ongoing, and the idea of finding one that truly felt like home was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking.

“Really?” my voice was laced with a mixture of disbelief and hope. I moved closer to my mom, hanging onto her every word.

She nodded, her gaze unwavering and full of belief. “It’s called Meadowbrook High. It’s known for its nurturing environment, outstanding teachers, and a wide range of opportunities for you to explore your interests.”

A surge of emotions flooded through me—relief, curiosity and a hint of anxiety. The thought of starting fresh in a new school both thrilled and unnerved me. But I trusted my mother’s judgment, knowing that she had carefully considered the options and wanted the best for me.

Her hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know change can be intimidating, my love, but I have a feeling Meadowbrooke will be the best place for you to grow, learn and discover your passions.”

Her words washed over me, easing the knots of uncertainty that had settled in my stomach. I took a deep breath, allowing her confidence to seep into my own being.

“But don’t forget, you’re glass, and glass is fragile. People will come and go throughout your life,” she explained. “Some will bring joy, while others may unintentionally cause pain. It’s crucial to be discerning and protect your heart, protect yourself.”

She reached out, her hand covering mine, offering a comforting reassurance. “I’m not saying you should build walls or shut yourself off from the world. Simply be mindful of those who enter your heart’s sanctuary.”

“Then why are your walls up?” I asked her intrigued as to why she closes herself from people.

“I do tell you that because I believe in the power of connection, of letting others into our lives. But sometimes, life can leave its mark. Scars.” Her gaze met mine, a mixture of sadness and gratitude in her eyes. She understood the contradiction she presented, the weight of her own struggles. Tears welled up in my eyes as I understood the depth of her love and the sacrifices she had made to shield me from the harshness of the world. In her own imperfect way, she was trying to guide me toward a more authentic and fulfilling life.

“Thank you, Mother,” I whispered, my voice choking with emotion. “Thank you for being honest with me and for wanting more for me.” Mother pulled me into her arms, embracing me.

As I sat there, surrounded by the warmth of my mother’s presence, I felt empowered to navigate the delicate dance of trust and protection. Her guidance had imparted upon me a newfound strength, a reminder that my glass heart was a precious gift, meant to be cherished and guarded.

“Now, come on. Get ready so that you can help me in the art shop,” she said as she let me go, leaving a kiss on my forehead before getting up. I gave her a smile as she left my room. With a sigh, I sank into the plush comfort of my bed, hoping to get one more minute of rest.

I sat at the kitchen table, savoring the aroma of warm pancakes wafting through the air. Mother hummed a soft tune as she was pouring herself a glass of orange juice. It was a peaceful moment, a simple yet comforting start to the day. As I took a sip of my orange juice, a knock on the front door startled me. Mother exchanged a curious glance with me, then placed the orange juice on the counter and headed towards the entrance. I followed closely behind, curiosity gnawing at my insides. Opening the door, my mom was greeted by a woman with a warm smile and sophisticated posture, two males standing behind her. The woman extended her hand in greeting, her eyes filled with genuine friendliness.

“Hello there! We’re the Monroes,” she said, her voice cheery and inviting. “We live a few houses down, and we wanted to welcome your family to the community.”

Mother accepted the woman’s handshake, returning the smile. “Thank you so much, we’re thrilled to be here.”

“I got our chef to bake you some cookies, there’s oatmeal and chocolate chips.” Mother took the basket of cookies and nodded, showing her gratitude towards the woman.

I stood slightly behind my mom, observing the scene with cautious curiosity. My gaze drifted to the two boys beside the woman. One had a relaxed demeanor, his eyes scanning the surroundings with casual interest. But the other… his eyes met mine, and a flicker of tension passed between us, unspoken but palpable.

I instinctively averted my gaze, focusing on the floor beneath my feet, then back to the woman. Something about his gaze unsettled me, stirring uneasiness. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was an air of familiarity, a connection that felt both enticing and unnerving.

With a polite smile, mother gestured toward me. “This is my daughter, Rose. And you can just call me Linda. We’re the Wards.”

The woman’s smile widened, her eyes glancing briefly at the tension-filled atmosphere between me and the boy. “It’s lovely to meet you, Rose. This is my son, Theodore,” she said, gesturing to him. He excluded a relaxed air, a calm confidence that seemed to emanate from within. His expressive eyes, a warm shade of brown, his dimples adding a touch of boyish charm to his already striking presence. His brown hair, perfectly styled, fell in artful waves, adding an air of elegance to his demeanor. The rich, earthy hue of his hair was a perfect complement to his olive skin, the two blending seamlessly, adding depth to his features.

“Pleasure to meet you Rose and Mrs. Ward,” smiling as his dimples stuck out. Pretty.

Mrs. Monroe turned to her other son, introducing him to us, “And this is my other son, Truce.” He was tall, with an air of confidence that exuded an aura of rebelliousness. His jet-black hair, tousled and untamed, fell over piercing eyes that seemed to hold a world of secrets. It was the kind of hair that made one want to run their fingers through it, yet also warned of the untamed spirit that lay beneath. His calm and dull eyes, dark chocolate, sweet yet seemed so bitter. He moved with a certain grace, as if every step were deliberate, his lean and muscular physique emanating strength and power. There was an edge to his appearance, a hint of danger that whispered to my wild side, tempting me to explore the unknown, he felt like the type of person Mother always warned me about.

“Mrs. Ward, pleasure to meet you. Rose,” as he said my name it felt as if something was stuck in my throat, something that was hard to swallow. He made me nervous. “Pleasure to meet you as well.”

I managed a small nod of acknowledgment, my voice caught in my throat. The unspoken tension between Truce and me hung in the air like an invisible thread, tugging at my curiosity, but also making me wary.

As if sensing the unease, my mom smoothly changed the subject, thanking the Monroes for their warm welcome.

“Our youngest daughter, Tori, isn’t present at the moment but I’m sure you will meet her someday, same for my husband.”

We thanked Mrs. Monroe again, and said our goodbyes to her and her sons. Truce looked me in the eye one last time, and went on his way back home with his mother. In that moment, as I studied his guarded expression and felt the unease coiling within me, I knew that the path ahead would be filled with unexpected twists, unraveling secrets, and perhaps, trouble.