The Meaning of His Life

Marty stared at the pieces of porcelain on his office floor, and wondered if any of the shards had fallen under his desk.

“It’s just a pencil holder. I understand it must have some sentimental value for you, but it was an accident, and you can always get another one.” Carrie stood with her arms crossed across the small room.

“It was actually a candle holder when I first found it.” Marty said quietly, “and I could buy a new one, but it would probably be an actual pencil holder. It wouldn’t be a repurposed candle holder.”

Carrie frowned at this. Why wasn’t he getting the point? Everyone had things from their childhood that they lost, so why was this a big deal? “My mom just threw out a box of my old report cards last year.” She said. “so I know what you’re going through.”

                Hearing this didn’t sit well with Marty. “I don’t want you to know what I’m going through. And I don’t think I really want the candle holder back that badly.”

“Then what do you want?” She asked impatiently.

                Marty paused. His thoughts briefly returned to the pieces that may have been under his desk. If he tried to glue the pieces back together, he would have to check underneath to make sure there weren’t any gaping holes. And even if he did find all the pieces, the cracks would still be there. “I think I want to throw this out and forget about it.” He said finally.

“Well that hardly sounds healthy.” Carrie said. “If it bugged you that much to see it broken, I think you should at least mourn it or something.”

                The two of them looked at each other finally, and Marty smiled. It wasn’t an entirely honest smile, but he wanted to have it on his face. “Let’s sweep it up. It’s well beyond being worth fixing, and I don’t really think I need to mourn it like some report cards.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Carrie snapped.

“I just thought that report cards might have meant more to you than this meant to me.” Marty knew he was trying too hard and being passive-aggressive, but he couldn’t stop himself. He and Carrie hadn’t had a good fight in a few months, and he was beginning to miss the make-up sex.

“Don’t think this is going to get you any make-up sex.” Carrie said, “I know this damn candle holder meant a lot to you because you’ve been using it for at least the last twelve years, and it’s survived five moves to new places. I can help you sweep it up, but if you’re going to keep thinking about it, then I’m not going to get in the way of your thoughts.”

She turned on her heels, walked upstairs, and made sure to close the bedroom door loudly enough for Marty to understand he wouldn’t be getting his way tonight. He grabbed a broom from the closet next to the front door, and stared at the pieces again. He picked up the biggest parts – half of an apple, most of a bumblebee, and the face of a sun – and threw them in the trash. After sweeping the smaller pieces up, he got on his knees, and peered under his desk. The drawers of his desk stood about an inch and a half above the ground, so he had to squint to see anything. A fine layer of dust sat undisturbed as far back as Marty could see, so he stood back up and went to bed. He muttered a half-hearted “good night, Carrie” before turning of his bedside lamp, but didn’t care when she responded with a light snore. He doubted it was a real snore.

Carrie woke up the next morning before Marty, and decided to make herself breakfast before work. Scrambled eggs. She made enough for Marty to have a half portion, but ended up eating the whole thing because she was hungry. She justified it by telling herself that Marty wouldn’t have known she made him eggs. Still, she felt a little guilty, so she decided to make some more. When Marty joined her in the kitchen, he asked her if she wanted coffee.

“I’m still trying to cut down.” She said hesitantly.

“Just don’t have another cup before lunch?” He said.

                She looked at him, and smiled. Carrie didn’t worry about thinking whether or not it was a real smile, and Marty knew that. Carey put her arms around Marty, and didn’t notice that the eggs were starting to burn.