Fragile

My mother had a collection of porcelain dolls. Dad had gotten them from a trip to China and Mom arranged them on top of the drawers. I was curious about them but recognized them as a toy for girls, and I would go back to my trucks and robots. But there was something about the dolls that called to me. Perhaps it was because Mom would never let me near them, lest I break them. They’re fragile, she said, fragile.

***

She was a china doll come to life. Her skin was so white that I could see the blue veins tracing rivers on her arms. Her cheeks were flushed and she was standing at the top of the steps leading to the library. She was breathing heavily and I stopped because she looked like she needed help. I saw her tilt forward and I grabbed her wrist.

That was how we met. She was falling, and I was the lucky bystander who caught her.

It didn’t strike me then, but I remember now, how thin her wrists were. It was as if I had grabbed a child. When I tried to lift her up I could feel her ribs sticking out and when I lifted her, it was as if I carried a feather.

It was a recurrence with her, the fainting. I used to joke about it at first, telling her how she ‘fell for me at first sight’ and then, I got worried. She was so frail. When it got too cold she would shiver uncontrollably, and I would hold her as tightly as I dared. I was afraid that if I pulled her too close I would crush her. When it was too warm, she would faint. When the weather was fair, it would either be too cold or too warm, and I didn’t know what to do.

It wasn’t just that. It was as if she was scared of everything. One afternoon I snuck up on her as she was on her way to school and grabbed her waist from behind. I only intended to surprise her but she was so frightened and she wouldn’t stop crying even when I was holding her. She got startled by sudden movements, sudden loud noises. When we walked she would always hold my hand. I didn’t mind. It felt… good, somehow, knowing that she felt safe with me.

But I didn’t want her to be afraid. I didn’t want her to be so weak. When she was far from me, I was scared for her. She was a china doll on the top shelf and I had to constantly check on her, and make sure she wasn’t scattered in pieces all over the floor.

I was beginning to feel frail as well. I was getting tired of hauling her up in my arms and praying to god that she’d be alright. I felt my heart stop every time she would fall down. I was getting weak as well. One night, I grabbed her by her shoulders and shouted at her. What’s wrong? Just tell me what’s wrong. I can fix it!

I wish I’d paid attention. I wish I saw how her eyes had brimmed with tears at my desperation. I just wanted her to be alright. I wish I realized how much she needed me. I should have seen that when I saw her pale skin, and her thin wrists, and her ribs and her sunken cheeks.

If I could turn back time, I would have turned back and gathered her up in my arms again. Instead, I chose to prove my strength by showing that I could leave her. I barricaded my heart against the onslaught of her tears. She’s too breakable. Sometimes I’m afraid even to simply touch her lest she falls from her perch on the shelf and shatters to pieces.

I found out a few months later… how sick she was. She was holding on because of me. She was falling and I caught her. I was the one that kept her stable on her shelf, making sure that she wouldn’t fall and fall apart. And in the end, I just broke her, like a china doll. I let her fall and I let her break.

***

I remember, one day, I couldn’t help my curiosity and I climbed onto a chair to reach the dolls. I held one in my hands so carefully, knowing how breakable they were. They were so small; I wanted to take them and put them on my truck and make them fly across the garden. My mom startled me when she slammed the door. I lost my balance for a moment then regained it, but the doll had fallen.

Mom found me on the floor, shattered pieces all around, and I was crying. I didn’t mean to break it, mommy. It was just so pretty and I wanted to play and I really didn’t mean to break it, mommy

***

I didn’t mean to break you, my dear. You were just so fragile and I didn’t know how to handle you with care.