My feet crunch as I make my way across the living room floor. The shattered ornaments almost look like confetti that had drifted gracefully to the ground, scattered there peacefully on the floor. Everything here indicates a party, the lights, the gifts, the food. Or at least it did. The string lights now look lie in a tangled mess in the corner, still glowing like fireflies. The gift boxes have caved in, and the paper that wraps them had somehow lost its shine. The food, however remains untouched, and still sits perfectly on the table. One glass of wine knocked over. I know that I’ll always remember how the air smells. Pine, cinnamon, fireplace, and fresh dinner rolls. What I try to ignore is the taste of salt on my checks and the rawness of my throat. I try to ignore the soreness in my wrists. Christmas was so special when I was younger. Now I look at the ornaments shattered under my feet and my happiness turns to ash in my mouth.

——————

“Do we really need to bring this up today?”

“I just think the holidays would feel more special,” Will muttered to himself as he hung an ornament on the tree.

“Will, I don’t want to have this discussion again. Not today.” Rachel was pulling the small ham out of the oven, feeling the steam make her eyes water.

“Rachel, listen to me,” Will pleaded as he came around the counter and took the dish from her hands and set it on the table. “Can’t you picture it? A little kiddo running around getting excited about Santa coming? The reindeer too, and we can eat the cookies.”

“That was never our plan.”

“You’re so stubborn! Just say you’ll think about it!”

“I have, and we decided that it wasn’t want we wanted. I don’t want to be a mother, Will.”

The decisiveness in her voice made Will start to breathe harder. “That’s selfish.”

Rachel scoffed, “hah, well now I’m selfish for standing by what I’ve always known was right for me! You’re the one changing your mind!”

“I’ve grown up, Rachel.”

“Then stop acting immature.” She watched him walk away. “I won’t give you that, it’s not what I want and you know that.”

Will returned to the tree and picked up the box of ornaments. “Fuck!” He threw the box on the ground, the shatter sounding from inside the box.

“Relax. Can we just eat and finish this conversation another time? It’s Christmas.” She walked to him and picked up the box, setting it on the coffee table. She reached for his arm, but Will pulled his arm up away from her, too fast. His fingers brushed her eye, and it started to water immediately. “Agh!”

“Rach—“ he began as Rachel shoved him, a bit too hard away from her.

“Just leave me—“ he shoved back, and she stepped back into the tree, sending a few ornaments to the floor, fracturing around her feet. Rachel looked up at him, shocked and pushed her arms out to shove him back, but he grabbed her wrists, twisting them until she gave way underneath and sank into the tree with a yelp of pain. More ornaments fell to the floor and crashed around them in pops. Her foot stamped on a gift, and her ankle turned, sending her into the area under the tree. She landed on their pile if gifts, and heard the framed photo she had gotten him shatter beneath her elbow.

Will fell too, and careened down toward Rachel. The tree decided to go as well, and took the string lights fixed to the ceiling down with it. Will rolled over and his back crashed down on the floor of ornaments, turning them to fragments under his weight. Rachel, under the tree, sat gasping, “Will?”

He tuned into his side and watched from a distance as Rachel pulled herself from the bottom of the tree. Then they were sitting face to face on the living room floor, panting and seeing each other for the first time through pained eyes.

“I’m not having a child, Will.”

He nodded. He felt his palm open up to the glass in the floor as he pushed himself up off the floor. He did not look back at Rachel when he grabbed his coat, put on his boots, and walked out the front door on Christmas Eve.

Kate felt like the floor must have been built uneven. She couldn’t seem to get her footing right and kept stumbling into the furniture. She felt the chilling, metallic taste of the vodka on her breath and decided to fix the floor tomorrow. Her night had been epic, filled with strange faces and places she had never been to before. Surrounded by so many people, she felt alone. No one truly knew who she was, and she felt lost. She decided to find herself at the bottom of the bottle.

Sex seemed so far away, It was never meant for me. My first boyfriend Bless him, Never awoke that need.

In the sheets I thought It would all click The lust, the desire, the passion, From the first touch I knew it would not.

I thought about The straight lines of his chest, Him rigid in my hand. His bony hips against my leg, Everything felt like a guess.

I had a dream that night Lying alone beside him. Glossed lip between by teeth The soft curve of a hip. Of a waist so slim.

I awakened that night Wishing his change The smooth of her leg, The pitch of her voice, Erotic feelings so strange.

The leaves seemed to fall in pairs, A woman walked two dogs But she was alone. He wondered, Does she feel love?

Without someone To share a bed To share a life Was she as alone as he was? Or just kind of

She sat beside a woman Who also seemed alone, She greeted her as friend. Their conversation He heard most of.

They laughed about old times Of people long departed. The spoke a about their lives And the futures they would never Have dreamt of.

He sat alone and saw These friends so close together. He thought of his family His friends. That was why he still believed in love.

I didn’t want to kiss her for the first time in the student parking lot at school, but here we were. I wasn’t sure what exactly I felt for her. Deep friendship, maybe more, maybe love? Definitely love, but was it romantic? Looking in her green eyes I decided that yes, even if I am getting carried away, even if I don’t feel like this tomorrow, I feel love right now. It was warm outside for February, but we still tucked in close together and savored the moment. She would always be my friend, but now she was so much more.

It felt small, claustrophobic. If not for the confined space, the heat would make your lungs feel too small, like you could only get relief once you were no longer inside. Like a caged bird or a dog in the car. There were cracks on the floor from where so many had stepped before, as if one wrong step would send the whole place crashing down. There was only one way out, unless you counted the fire escape. On a hot summer day, and with someone blocking the doorway, the fire escape seemed like the appropriate option.

I was placed into responsibility. I didn’t ask for this, but once the water restrictions were announced, I found my seemingly nomadic way of life to now be a priceless asset. I found this waterfall years ago, and with desire to get away from those who vexed me so, decided to stay.

Was I now responsible for protecting this waterfall for when things got worse? I could offer up the supply while the efforts continued to find other water sources. Then again, I had found this after being forced to relocate, to live my life away from those who judged me, those who no longer had enough water. If I offered to let them use my waterfall, where would I go? And where would that leave me for rations? I had more than enough now, and if I offered ti share, I would barley have enough to survive. I knew about the digestive issues, the constant headaches. I knew about the debts people carried from supplying their families with water.

I’ve earned this, and put myself in the 1% of people who had enough, and would not sacrifice everything that I had earned.

You never asked, but I would spend those nights In the dark When you wouldn’t call. I would wonder What I said said or did To make you shut me out To build a wall.

You never asked, but I thought that this Was how it was Supposed to be. When it was over You never thought That maybe your pain Was designed to hurt me.

The thing about finding a soulmate that drove some mad what that there was no way to know whether someone was yours until your eyes met. You could travel the world looking for the one, but could never know until you were face to face. As much as you tried not to think about it, there was always a drive to look everyone in the eye. At the store, at concerts, strangers on the sidewalk passing by, someone was always looking at you, trying to catch your eye. Sloane was shy, and avoided friends in the eye, let alone strangers. Many of her friends have found their soulmates already, and only at the age of 26, it was starting to seem like there was a building pressure to find hers.

She knew people who were in their 40’s who would attend Convention, and she did not want to end up like them, signing up for such a large event and parading herself around to look at so many people. It seemed to Sloane that many people focused so much on finding their soulmate, that they did not do anything else in their lives to make themselves a whole person. People had many friends from meeting so many faces throughout the years, and would only engage in work and social activities. Most people had a few part time jobs and would never stay at one for to long, wondering of their soulmate worked at the next job they would apply to. Because of this, many people worked as recruiters and in human resources. Only when people found their soulmate would they move to more rural parts of the country or work in more permanent or otherwise isolated jobs. 

Sloane was not one for change. She was perfectly content working in the library of the Historical Society. Some people would come into the library not to rent a book, but to see if anyone new was at the library that day. Those few who did stay were older mated people who would speak to Sloane about their favorite books and ask her for recommendations. Sloane thought that one day she might work her way through the entire library. She had read books about sailing, faeries, law, history, and biographies from long ago. History always thrilled her to read. She liked to know how people filled their time before the Soulmate Program. Sloane read about wars that were fought over land, how natives figured about how to find and grow their own food, and about how different creatures used to like among the humans that were long extinct.

A particularity slow day was dragging on at the library, and Sloane was paging through a World War II text. Her coffee was sitting on the counter in front of her, having gone cold hours before. She was reading a section about the bombings of London in autumn of 1940, looking at photos of the destroyed homes, left to nothing but rubble on the streets. She turned the page and saw the face of a young man in a uniform. Her eyes locked on his and she saw something in him that made him feel like she knew him. A light feeling that started in her chest blossomed down into her abdomen, and up toward her shoulders. Sloane almost felt like she could fly. Unable to take her eyes off the soldier, her hand pressed to the counter in front of her, and she knocked the coffee over, sending dark brown stains across the top of the book. Sloane, however, could not move. She looked at the portrait and tried to catch her breath, each exhale making her feel such a strong sense of calm. “Fuck.” She whispered to herself, reading the name and date underneath the photo. 

“Captain Stephen Hughes, 1940.”

Sun shining down on my face, Facing the wide open sea. See my feet disappear beneath the waves, Waves that wash the worry away.

Away from long hours, Hours spent in front of a screen. Screens that dry out my eyes, Eyes that now look across the sky.

Sky turns to red as I breathe, Breathe in the salt and smile. Smile as I think of today, Today I am as content as can be.