Crack!
Maia watched as the vase tumbled to the floor and shattered into pieces at her feet.
Shocked and shaking, all she could do was stare at what had once been the vase as she tried to collect her thoughts. Oh my God. Her mind froze, eyes watering as tears began to fall. Oh my God.
She squatted, trying to gather the largest shards into her palm, only for them to slip back to the floor, breaking into even smaller pieces.
A piece of history had been reduced to fragments.
That porcelain vase had been in her family for generations, passed down from parent to child. It was the greatest, most important, most valuable possession of her lineage, one her mother cared for as if it were made of gold. But now, because of her clumsiness, that artefact was gone. Forever.
Through her tear-blurred vision, Maia saw the end table she had knocked into moments earlier.
For goodness’ sake, Maia, why are you so cloddish? she asked herself.
Placing the smaller shards into her palm, her mind swam with possibilities of what would happen next. Her mother, the moment she came home that evening, would chide her, scold her and never forgive her.
Her brother, returning from Germany for the holidays, would watch her every move with disappointment. Her family would shoot her judgemental looks across the room during gatherings.
A sharp fragment cut into her palm. She winced, wondering if there was any way to escape all of it.
Maia Chen had always been honest, almost painfully so. That was what her mother taught her, what her father always said – before he left, that is.
But right now, she desperately needed a way to hide her shame.
She sat on the floor beside the broken vase, porcelain fragments trembling in her hand as she formed a plan.
She would store the pieces in a way that made them seem important enough to be kept, but unimportant enough to be ignored. Then she would hide them somewhere her mother would not be surprised to find – the attic, or under her bed, sealed in a cardboard box – and pray her mother would invent a reason for its disappearance.
Her mother cared deeply about the vase, yes, but these days her life was far too daunting to dwell on such matters.
Always be honest, Maia.
Her mother’s words echoed in her mind as she pushed the broken pieces into a neat pile beneath the end table.
Always tell the truth.
When it was gathered into a dusty heap, Maia climbed the stairs to her bedroom and waited.
Her mother usually came home at 7pm.
Now it was 6.
6.15.
6.30.
“Maia Chen, you stupid, clumsy girl!” her mother shrieked, advancing towards her as Maia began to cry uncontrollably.
“Why? Why? Oh my God! You’re so useless! How dare you even touch that vase!”
Her mother brushed past her towards the shattered remains.
Maia fled to her room, collapsing onto her bed as her thoughts dissolved into whys and her tears dried on her cheeks. She could still hear her mother shouting in the hall – not at Maia, but out of pure rage.
Why must you be like this?
****
Maia fell with a thump, sliding across the ice on her side. Her arms shot out in front of her, breaking her fall just as her instructor had taught her.
Coach Wang skated over.
“You’re doing worse today, Maia. I have high expectations of you,” he said. “You’re one of my best students, but your form is off.”
He pointed downwards. “Your knees aren’t bent enough.”
A moment of judgement passed before Maia found her voice.
“S-sorry. I’ll do better,” she said, crouching low so she wouldn’t have to look at her skates.
With a flick of his hand, Coach Wang sent her back to the group.
She fell again.
This time, he sent her off to rest, unable to hide his disappointment.
Gliding away glumly, Maia heard her classmates’ sniggers and felt their stares as she sat in the stands. She watched them glide effortlessly across the ice, as though their skates were part of their bodies.
Why can’t that be me?
The thought crept in – she could leave, go home where it was warm and she did not have to sit in envy.
But she remembered what awaited her there: a tense, apprehensive mother who now answered her every question with a single word.
This is an excerpt from The Hairloom by Abbygale Mong Yi Tong. It is part of a collection of short stories by young writers titled Broken.
Broken is priced at RM33.90 and is available at BookXcess outlets and on its website.
To give the younger generation a platform to express themselves, Twentytwo13 runs a dedicated space called Young Voices. Young writers aged 18 and below who wish to have their work published may submit their contributions to editor@twentytwo13.my.
