These Broken Things

by Sophia Matano

“CHELSEA WITHERSPOON GONE MISSING” Harrison Reynolds read from the newspaper that fateful Tuesday morning, though nothing appeared fateful about it. He had emerged from his house later than usual, coffee cup in hand, bathrobe tied carelessly.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it Dr. Reynolds?” Ginny Taberski said from her front lawn, her knees in dirt, patting down the cheerful petunias into the soft earth. “That poor Witherspoon girl.”

Harrison looked down at the middle-aged woman. She would have been pretty if she were younger, he thought. He erased the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes and the patches of grey in her hair. Instead of those mud-stained pants he pictured a delicate summer dress. Yes, she would have been quite beautiful indeed.

“Yes, yes, it is a shame,” he said folding the newspaper under his arm, keeping his eyes on Ginny. He took a sip of his coffee with his last glance at the morning and went back inside his small rickety house. The hinges of the front door screamed as he shut the door behind him and made his way to his little yellow kitchen.

The picture of Chelsea was gorgeous, definitely better than the ones on the posters put up around town. In the posters her soft golden curls were tied back in a restricting bun, while in the picture on the front page of the paper they fluttered around her face, framing it perfectly. Her face wasn’t as beautiful as Jodie Kaelin’s, though. And Jodie Kaelin’s eyes couldn’t compare to Samantha Oates’. What a mesmerizing rich brown those were. Harrison gripped the edges of the paper in excitement. Jodie’s face would look just right with those beautiful eyes, and they would compliment Chelsea’s hair wonderfully. His heart swelled at the thought of it and got an urge to see Her.

He sprinted into his bedroom and threw on the nearest clothes he could find. He grabbed his car keys and his ID badge from his medical scrubs. Nearly leaping into his car he drove off, Ginny Taberski waving from her front yard as he sped off. His sweaty fingertips left fingerprints on the steering wheel and he waited for the lights to change.

It had been far too long since he had seen Her, almost a week. She wasn’t complete though. Harrison couldn’t count the number of hours he had pictured Her angelic face, deciding what color eyes should peek out behind Jodie Kaelin’s thick, feminine lashes. It was by accident that Harrison had found Samantha Oates in the first place. At the grocery store the clumsy teen had knocked over a canned soup display and they knocked heads when they both dove to catch the rolling cans. Rubbing his forehead, Harrison looked up and saw those fantastic chocolate eyes. Her face was ordinary, but those eyes were exquisite.

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Reynolds!” she breathed nervously, arms flailing, trying to catch all the cans she could.

Harrison couldn’t take his eyes off her. He hardly averted his gaze when picking up a stray can that was trying to escape. “It’s quite alright, no harm done,” he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone. They both got to their feet and Samantha Oates’ unadorned cheeks (that couldn’t hold a candle to Jodie Kaelin’s) blushed a soft pink.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Those eyes…

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Samantha Oates. You operated on my grandfather last June.”

“That’s funny, I don’t remember you. You’d think I’d remember eyes like those.”

“They’re just brown, Doctor. Nothing special.”

“I wouldn’t say that. How’s your grandfather?”

“Oh, he’s doing great! He’s been getting stronger – he’s even going on jogs now. That new heart really did the trick!”

“I’m very glad to hear it! Please tell him not to hesitate to contact me if something happens.”

“I will, thank you.” She smiled with lips that weren’t as full as Maddie Clark’s. She walked away slowly, wallowing in self-pity after her public humiliation.

“See you later, Samantha. And be careful!” Harrison laughed.

“Alright!” Samantha waved as she joined her stout mother with the dusty, lifeless eyes.

* * *

Seconds felt like hours at the stoplight. The lights from the hospital’s rooms shined like a light tower in the distance. Harrison’s foot hovered on the gas petal, yearning to speed forward.

Green.

Harrison took a moment to calm himself. The procedure was practically routine now. He picked up his ID badge and waltzed through the front doors. He nodded to the young nurses who blushed and cried “hello Dr. Reynolds!” Then he hopped into the elevator and made his way down to the morgue. “Back again, Reynolds?” the doctors drinking coffee (when they were supposed to be performing an autopsy) would ask. Harrison would nod mournfully and ask for a moment alone in the morgue.

“Those doctors upstairs,” one would mock when they thought Harrison was out of earshot. “Too damn sensitive”

“You’re telling me,” another would reply. “People die in surgery all the time. This guy didn’t have any family; no one’s going to miss him.”

“I think it’s endearing,” another would chime in, feigning sincerity. Then they would all laugh.

Fools.

Harrison gripped the handle of the drawer marked “Guzman, Dantel” and his breath caught in his throat. He yanked on the handle.

There She was. Beautiful as ever. To be honest She had lost of the color in her cheeks, but She had to be kept at a cool temperature.

Harrison held Her hand and caressed the top of it with his thumb. Her hand didn’t grab his back, but he knew She would’ve tried. Joanna Marsh had such delicate hands.

“Don’t worry,” he cooed, “you’ll be finished soon enough.” His gaze shifter up to Her flawless face

* * *

Too easy, all too easy.

“Samantha!”

“Dr. Reynolds?”

“Yes, hello! What are you doing out so late?”

As if he hadn’t known. The car jerked up the steep San Francisco hills.

“I had my mandolin lesson.”

“But where is your mother?”

“I take the bus home on Tuesdays.”

“I would be more than happy to give you a ride home.”

Samantha was a very plain girl, Harrison thought to himself. She didn’t deserve

those eyes if the rest of her wasn’t going to be equally as beautiful.

“I think I’ll just take the bus, Doctor. But thank you.”

“Nonsense!”

She was harder to convince than Isabel De Luca who had leapt at the chance to have a pleasant car ride with Dr. Reynolds.

The jam jar was too large to fit into the cup holder, so Harrison had balanced it on top. He was on top of the world. He was soaring. Finally, finally she could be complete.

As he started up the hill with a jolt, the jam jar resting on top of the cup holder fell backward. Harrison didn’t realize what was happening until he looked down, expecting to see the jar at his side. It flew back past the backseat and into the trunk, and the echo of glass meeting metal filled his ears.

The jar hadn’t shattered so much as cracked, Harrison soon found, but the damage had been done. He carefully turned over one eye with his strong fingers, hoping to see Her gorgeous irises (or soon to be Her’s). The cornea had been slit, and the aqueous humor began to leak, wetting his fingertips.

No.

Harrison’s chest heaved and his throat began to close. He tried to gasp for oxygen but the cool San Francisco night air turned hot like steam and burned his lungs. There was only one pair of eyes like these and they had been Samantha’s, were going to be Her’s, and now they were no one’s because they were ruined and the sight of them was sickening even though they were so stunning, or they had been and Harrison couldn’t decide if he was clinging to the memory of them or saw these broken things as beautiful.

Up California Street Harrison went, fuming. Why couldn’t he have had this? He got out of his car, leaving the keys in the ignition, engine on, car running. Broken jar in one hand, he pushed open the doors to Grace Cathedral. His eyes were immediately brought upward to the intricate French Gothic ceilings by the ribbed groin vaults. The high ceilings were supposed to serve as a sanctuary to the God-fearing visitors. He didn’t feel small. He was alone.

Harrison stumbled across the labyrinth and through the aisle to the altar. He intended to set down the jar containing the broken eyes, but collapsed over the table. He let out a low cry as he turned his head and saw a crucifix. Mocking him. Christ’s serene expression turned smug, then maniacal, and his cackle rang through the cathedral. Harrison gripped the cloth of the altar, baring his teeth. Samantha’s eyes turned to look at him, filled with laughter at his pain. He pictured Her with these coffee eyes, liquid pouring from the slits and down Her cheeks like tears. The image burned into his brain, etched into the back of his eyelids.

You couldn’t let me have this. Now I have nothing, I am nothing.

Harrison tore himself away from the altar, leaving the jar.