The Glass Jar
A short story
I don’t know why I did it.
Maybe it was a gut feeling, maybe I was just so desperate for affection any decent human would’ve earned my attention.
When we went on that first date, I could tell he was the one.
He bought the tickets, I bought the popcorn. Neither of us remembered the movie.
That ticket was the first item in the jar. I let the piece of paper float to the bottom before screwing on the lid, desperately hoping to lock this feeling within me forever.
I know what you’re thinking. My naivety got the best of me, a lovesick puppy falling for cliche after cliche.
I knew that, but still couldn’t shake the feeling.
When we went to the beach, a sand dollar became the next occupant.
A gum wrapper joined a few days later.
The first flower he gave me, a daisy, slowly wilted away in the glass.
A pebble from my parents' driveway. Coffee beans from his.
Each item a memory, trapped forever within the glass.
When I first told him, he laughed. Tugging at his shirt, he pulled the bottom button off his flannel, handing it to me with a mischievous look in his eye.
It went on for months.
The jar filled until I couldn’t add any more. Too many stories.
The feeling wouldn’t last forever. The items became stale, losing their potency, despite the metal lid.
And when he said the words, he took the jar and smashed it into a million pieces.
