Broken

After (Clark)

I tiptoe back into the small apartment, feeling even more defeated than when I had first left this morning. Grams is passed out on the couch, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. Her wrinkled body looks so small curled up on the worn tweed couch. I smile at the thought that she tried to stay up and wait for me. I creep past her into my room and flop down on my bed. The emotional weight of the day crashes over me, and I slip into quiet darkness.

.........

The light streams in from my window, forcing its way past my closed eyelids. For the first time in a while I don't pull the covers over my head, shielding myself from the world. I get out of my bed with a deep breath and stand slumped in front of my mirror. I take in my sullen face, which seems to have given into gravity. Dark shadows pull at my slanted eyes and downturned mouth.  I imagine a soft mouth which can effortlessly spread into a smile, cheeks flushed with excitement, and eyes that pool with hope. I try to erase my slumped body and replace it with elegance.

With that fantasy in my pocket, I clean up my face and pull on a sundress. I ignore the black boxers and t-shirt still crumpled up on my floor and send a quick text to Sarah.

Coming over in 20

I set the phone down on the table and it immediately vibrates with a response.

I made waffles :)

I smile down at the screen and head to the kitchen to make Grams some breakfast.

Grams shuffles around the kitchen as I stir a pot of steamy oatmeal.

"Grams sit down, I'll bring you your oatmeal when it's ready." She purses her lips and shakes her head stubbornly. "I'm making tea."

I sigh and spoon out a bowl of oatmeal, placing it on the table. I check my phone, to see another text from Sarah.

OMG. LOOK AT THIS PICTURE.

I click on the attachment. It's a photo of Harry and I holding hands as we walk into the club from last night. The photo is captioned "Harry Spotted with a New Beauty." I wince at the title. It feels like it somehow confirms that it could never work between us. My heart squeezes a little at the fading memory of his hand in mine, but I push aside the feeling.

"You aren't having any oatmeal dear?" Grams asks, gesturing to the single bowl I've placed for her.

I slide my shoes on, pulling at the laces. "I'm going to Sarah's"

Grams clucks her tongue, shaking her head. "At least have some tea with your old Grams before you go. I hardly ever see you."

I nod and reluctantly walk back over to the table.

Grams gently lowers the spout of the teapot to my cup. Her weathered hand pats my own, and I give her a forced smile. "You don't always have to be okay. A smile can only fool so many people you know." She gently rests the teapot on the table beside me and sinks into her chair. Purple yarn weaves through her crooked fingers, and the soft clink of knitting needles fills the silence. I twist the flat ring wrapped around my pinky finger and watch her needles work through the yarn in a tedious rhythm.

"I know I'm old Clark, but I'm not dead. I've been around for a long time. A little too long if you ask me " she chuckles at her own joke. "You need to stop seeing things through your one, tiny, narrow perspective."

I pause with my cup at my lips. Is she talking about my parents or Harry? She can't possibly know anything about Harry.

She suddenly stills her hands mid-motion and looks up at me with crinkled eyes. "There are many sides to every story."