In Pieces

52. 11. 

Cassidy strode to the only other inhabitant of her house, her paradise fish named Gypsy, and shook its food container over the glass until Gypsy was happily flitting about and eating his meal. She counted the flakes.  

16. Well, now 12.  

Gypsy was given to Cassidy by the pet shop owner down the street, because Gypsy didn't like the other fish. The owner didn't want to keep a separate tank just for him.  

Cassidy didn't mind. She had even crafted him a custom glass bowl.  

She went to the "studio" part of her house, which is the living room lined with concrete and all her glass-making materials: her three furnaces, her enamels used for coloring glass, her punty rods (the rods used in glass-blowing), the smaller tools used for shaping, broken pieces of her work, and her half-hearted attempts to make some art. Cassidy heated up her furnace, but knew that no inspiration would hit her.  

Just like last month. 

And the month before that. 

She counted the glass pieces on the ground, then her punty rods, then food items in her refrigerator.  

263. 16. 2. 

She counted the days since she last had a sale.  

71. 

She counted her failed attempts at art lying around. 

38. 

She counted the letters demanding that her bills be paid. 

6. 

There was too much pressure from financial needs for her to make anything worthwhile, she decided. Cassidy needed to get out. Possibly find a small part-time job until she could make it. 

It wasn't that she was unrealistic by expecting to survive solely on her art. Cassidy was doing fine before. She had managed to buy so much expensive equipment with her savings, pay her bills on time, and even get into many art galleries.  

But then her muse went missing, and soon her art became meaningless. She imagined working at a fast-food restaurant, or as a baby-sitter, and shuddered at the horror. 

Cassidy forced her frizzy hair into a tight ponytail, causing her scalp to tingle in pain, and admitted to herself that yes, she needed a job. Because she couldn't afford a computer, she headed toward the library in order to search online for a job.  

56, 57, 58... she counted her steps as she walked up her street. She knew that her whole street was approximately 238 steps -or 241, if you walked with shorter strides.  

The library was four blocks down, but she walked briskly and quickly in order to have enough time to get finished before dinner.  

***** 

Cassidy suddenly remembered the very first day.  

She was 15. Yes, it was when she was 15, because it was past Christmas already and she was happy to get half of freshman year done. She was sitting in the living room, waiting for Ada to take her to get new pencils and other supplies that had worn out or gotten lost during the year.  

Cassidy had irritably reached for the home phone to call her sister, which was laying face-down on the table, when her elbow hit a glass vase. She watched it topple, almost in slow motion, as it descended towards the ground. She watched the impact; cracks feathering through the smooth surface, until they all separated from the base and scattered their own way. A hand, first in a tight fist, but slowly relaxing and spreading the fingers open.