Fractured- by H. Meyerson- Year 8
The room that had been given to her felt like someone else had been living in it. Not a person, exactly. something unfinished.
Bella shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, her pinkie with a mind of its own smoothing the worn-down seam of her jeans. She did not want to enter, yet methodically followed her feet in. The room held a weight that didn’t belong. The room held its breath; the silence swallowed her whole. She adjusted her glasses up the bridge of her nose, a ritualistic gesture that usually felt familiar. Not today. Today they did not stay.
The room was polished and orderly, like a well packaged lie. Rectangular photo frames of varying sizes adorned the wall, almost huddled in anticipation. The bookshelf, lined with near perfectly aligned stories, held a weight that didn’t belong. A fiddle-leaf fig propped itself in the corner. Its large, dark leaves curled inward as though protecting something of value. Silently mocking her incessant fiddling.
Bella’s eyes settled on one frame, it sat slightly lower than the others, just enough to throw the symmetry to disarray. She pushed it up with the same familiarity as her glasses. Again, desperate to make it right. It didn’t. She learnt long ago that if she fixed the small things, then the bigger things wouldn’t stir.
The blurred image sharpened under Bella’s half squint, revealing a girl standing by a river. Bella hated rivers, the way they so deceptively eroded landscapes. A quiet deterioration she recognised. The glass reflection wore a forced smile, a mirror to her strained gaze, a tic-like head nod steadied her. A familiar and grounding notion.
“You noticed.” Instead of voice in a matter-of-fact tone. Bella didn’t turn, her pinkie rhythmically smoothing her seem as though seeking the comfort of a pacifier. Her body stiffened comma trying not to betray her. “You’re still doing it” Bella caught her heavy breath, “You think if you keep fixing things…”, she inched closer to Bella, “…nothing will change.” The shadow encroached Bella, darkening the photo, Bella felt an odd familiarity standing in her shadow. Only then did she turn.
There stood a girl, up against the freshly lacquered bookshelf. Her stare lingered with unnerving recognition, a neck twitch grounded Bella “Who are you?” Bella asked with a crack in her voice. No reply. Just dead air. The girl followed her finger over each story, until she pulled a copy of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. The spine was cracked, and the corners dog eared, a strong resemblance to Bella’s own, much-loved copy, revealing a lifetime of courtship and connection. The girl instinctively opened to a heavily tabbed page, multicoloured dividers gathered in anxious flocks. Purple. Pink. Orange. Bella’s ribs collapsed into her chest.
Bella Stared, adjusted her glasses “This one calms you”, the girls finger pointed to an ink drenched sentence, that had been circled over-and-over. Bella’s throat tightened, goosebumps rolled over her arms. This is the page Bella would drown the noise in her head with. Love. Devotion. The belief that even the most damaged things could stay together. “You wore the pages corners down” the girl stated gently. Bella’s jaw tightened, grinding each of her teeth against each other.
Then she noticed it. The girl’s pinkie smoothed the seam of her sapphire, faded jeans. A fractured piece of music Bella half recognised from within. Her head jolted back to the photo. The girl was gone. Only her weathered silhouette remained.
Bella’s hand had not stopped moving. Slowly, she pulled her hand from the seam of her jeans