{"id":168,"date":"2023-05-26T23:26:34","date_gmt":"2023-05-27T03:26:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/?post_type=chapter&p=168"},"modified":"2023-06-25T14:00:07","modified_gmt":"2023-06-25T18:00:07","slug":"glass-box","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/chapter\/glass-box\/","title":{"raw":"Glass Box","rendered":"Glass Box"},"content":{"raw":"No. I can\u2019t. I can\u2019t get out. What is this?<\/em> I reach out and feel the cool surface that\u2019s encasing me\u2026 it\u2019s smooth. I can\u2019t open my eyes though, I can\u2019t see what is happening to me. It\u2019s so cold in here. And it\u2019s so, so dark.<\/em> I raise my hand to my face and I feel my eyelashes flutter against my fingers. Okay, so my eyes are open. But I can\u2019t see anything\u2013<\/em>\r\n\r\nAll of a sudden, lights flash on from above me so suddenly that my pupils burn from the flood of light. Once my vision adjusts, I survey my surroundings. There\u2019s only one thing I can see occupying the emptiness. A large ragged purple couch, like the one that we kept in our family room, sits directly in front of me. But the strange spectacle is not the couch itself, it is the people sitting on it. What\u2019s my family doing here?<\/em>\r\n\r\n\u201cMum? What\u2019s going on?\u201d\r\n\r\nShe doesn\u2019t react, but her eyes bore into mine. I turn to face my dad, who has the same empty expression pasted on his face like a mask. They\u2019re both sitting completely rigid, backs straight, hands in their laps, completely lifeless. What is going on?<\/em>\r\n\r\n\u201cDad? Dad? What\u2019s happening?\u201d\r\n\r\nNothing. They both continue to stare at me until I feel like I\u2019m suffocating. I look around and realize what the cool surface is. Glass. Thick walls of transparent glass trap me on all sides as if I\u2019m a bug in a display case. My open palm, flat against the glass, curls and tightens into a fist and I pound frivolously, throwing my frail body at the walls in an effort to break through. My voice echoes and rings in the small enclosure, curdling screams and gasps escaping me. What\u2019s going on? What\u2019s going on\u2026 help me\u2026 help. Someone. Anyone. Please. I can\u2019t get out.<\/em>\r\n\r\nSuddenly, I\u2019m in my bed. My blankets are all muddled on the cold tile floor, twisted and damp. I had even managed to pull the sheets out and wrap myself in them, binding myself into a makeshift chrysalis. I sit up and pull the sheets away from my shivering body. The room around me seems just as I left it last night, the small window to my right still closed, but letting in a small amount of daylight. It\u2019s overcast outside, giving the whole world a greyish tinge. I guess it\u2019s time to get up.<\/em>\r\n\r\nI walk into my dingy kitchenette. My apartment is unnaturally small, the single bedroom no bigger than a walk-in closet with an adjoining bathroom that\u2019s about the same size. None of the lights work properly, so I have several small lamps set up on the counters and tables, letting off an eerie glow.\r\n\r\nI\u2019m making coffee as my phone rings, vibrating on the cold countertop. I look at the caller, the letters \u201cMUM\u201d jumping up at me from the screen. Fuck.<\/em>\u00a0Not now. I\u2019ll just call her later. I don\u2019t have anything good to tell her anyway. There\u2019s no need to burden her with the news of the breakup and the fact that I lost my job. She wouldn\u2019t understand anyway...\r\n\r\nIt\u2019s back. I\u2019m back. Have I been dreaming this whole time?<\/em> I press my palms against the glass again. They\u2019re still sitting across from me, unblinking, watching me suffer. Maybe they can\u2019t see me. I just want to get out, out of this box, out of this life, out of this dark fucking world. I look at my pale hands, bruised and red from trying to penetrate through the impenetrable. I\u2019m so weak. I can\u2019t even tell my own mother how I\u2019m feeling. How much I want to stop feeling. Stop breathing. I fall to my knees and crawl over to the corner of the box, back against the cool glass, knees to my chest. I just want to get out. Please. Let me out. I\u2019ll do anything.<\/em> I raise my head to see my grey, dusty kitchenette. I\u2019m no longer in the box, but standing in the middle of my apartment.\r\n\r\nSuddenly, I feel an urge. An urge to break, to destroy, to feel the rush of smashing something so that I\u2019m not the only broken thing in the room. I open the cupboard to my left and quickly grasp a blue glass plate. It has little dolphins on it. I raise it above my head and drop it, watching it fall, fall, fall, and produce millions of little blue diamonds, spraying the floor with beautifully dangerous, glittering shards. Wow. That felt incredible. Before I know it, every glass vase, plate, and ornament is ripped from the cupboards and on the floor, a sea of colours and sparkles resting at my feet. Colour. I haven\u2019t seen or felt that in such a long time. I slowly drop to all fours, then lie down, the colours absorbing into my back. In the dreamy haze, it doesn\u2019t hurt even though I know it should. It feels like something else\u2026 It feels like relief.\r\n\r\nI wake up, for real this time. But this time I\u2019m completely dry and well-rested. I can\u2019t even remember the last time that happened. I walk into my kitchenette to find all of my dishes in their proper cupboards, fully intact. I throw an English muffin in the toaster and take out my blue dolphin plate. I pick up my phone and dial Mum\u2019s number. I need to break the glass. I need to get out. And I need her help. I can\u2019t let her watch me struggle in that box anymore. As the call goes through, I feel a crack in that thick, glass wall. When she picks up, the crack lengthens.\r\n\r\n\u201cMum? It\u2019s me. There\u2019s something I have to tell you.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe crack begins to let the sunshine in. I\u2019ve missed the sunshine.","rendered":"

No. I can\u2019t. I can\u2019t get out. What is this?<\/em> I reach out and feel the cool surface that\u2019s encasing me\u2026 it\u2019s smooth. I can\u2019t open my eyes though, I can\u2019t see what is happening to me. It\u2019s so cold in here. And it\u2019s so, so dark.<\/em> I raise my hand to my face and I feel my eyelashes flutter against my fingers. Okay, so my eyes are open. But I can\u2019t see anything\u2013<\/em><\/p>\n

All of a sudden, lights flash on from above me so suddenly that my pupils burn from the flood of light. Once my vision adjusts, I survey my surroundings. There\u2019s only one thing I can see occupying the emptiness. A large ragged purple couch, like the one that we kept in our family room, sits directly in front of me. But the strange spectacle is not the couch itself, it is the people sitting on it. What\u2019s my family doing here?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cMum? What\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n

She doesn\u2019t react, but her eyes bore into mine. I turn to face my dad, who has the same empty expression pasted on his face like a mask. They\u2019re both sitting completely rigid, backs straight, hands in their laps, completely lifeless. What is going on?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cDad? Dad? What\u2019s happening?\u201d<\/p>\n

Nothing. They both continue to stare at me until I feel like I\u2019m suffocating. I look around and realize what the cool surface is. Glass. Thick walls of transparent glass trap me on all sides as if I\u2019m a bug in a display case. My open palm, flat against the glass, curls and tightens into a fist and I pound frivolously, throwing my frail body at the walls in an effort to break through. My voice echoes and rings in the small enclosure, curdling screams and gasps escaping me. What\u2019s going on? What\u2019s going on\u2026 help me\u2026 help. Someone. Anyone. Please. I can\u2019t get out.<\/em><\/p>\n

Suddenly, I\u2019m in my bed. My blankets are all muddled on the cold tile floor, twisted and damp. I had even managed to pull the sheets out and wrap myself in them, binding myself into a makeshift chrysalis. I sit up and pull the sheets away from my shivering body. The room around me seems just as I left it last night, the small window to my right still closed, but letting in a small amount of daylight. It\u2019s overcast outside, giving the whole world a greyish tinge. I guess it\u2019s time to get up.<\/em><\/p>\n

I walk into my dingy kitchenette. My apartment is unnaturally small, the single bedroom no bigger than a walk-in closet with an adjoining bathroom that\u2019s about the same size. None of the lights work properly, so I have several small lamps set up on the counters and tables, letting off an eerie glow.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m making coffee as my phone rings, vibrating on the cold countertop. I look at the caller, the letters \u201cMUM\u201d jumping up at me from the screen. Fuck.<\/em>\u00a0Not now. I\u2019ll just call her later. I don\u2019t have anything good to tell her anyway. There\u2019s no need to burden her with the news of the breakup and the fact that I lost my job. She wouldn\u2019t understand anyway…<\/p>\n

It\u2019s back. I\u2019m back. Have I been dreaming this whole time?<\/em> I press my palms against the glass again. They\u2019re still sitting across from me, unblinking, watching me suffer. Maybe they can\u2019t see me. I just want to get out, out of this box, out of this life, out of this dark fucking world. I look at my pale hands, bruised and red from trying to penetrate through the impenetrable. I\u2019m so weak. I can\u2019t even tell my own mother how I\u2019m feeling. How much I want to stop feeling. Stop breathing. I fall to my knees and crawl over to the corner of the box, back against the cool glass, knees to my chest. I just want to get out. Please. Let me out. I\u2019ll do anything.<\/em> I raise my head to see my grey, dusty kitchenette. I\u2019m no longer in the box, but standing in the middle of my apartment.<\/p>\n

Suddenly, I feel an urge. An urge to break, to destroy, to feel the rush of smashing something so that I\u2019m not the only broken thing in the room. I open the cupboard to my left and quickly grasp a blue glass plate. It has little dolphins on it. I raise it above my head and drop it, watching it fall, fall, fall, and produce millions of little blue diamonds, spraying the floor with beautifully dangerous, glittering shards. Wow. That felt incredible. Before I know it, every glass vase, plate, and ornament is ripped from the cupboards and on the floor, a sea of colours and sparkles resting at my feet. Colour. I haven\u2019t seen or felt that in such a long time. I slowly drop to all fours, then lie down, the colours absorbing into my back. In the dreamy haze, it doesn\u2019t hurt even though I know it should. It feels like something else\u2026 It feels like relief.<\/p>\n

I wake up, for real this time. But this time I\u2019m completely dry and well-rested. I can\u2019t even remember the last time that happened. I walk into my kitchenette to find all of my dishes in their proper cupboards, fully intact. I throw an English muffin in the toaster and take out my blue dolphin plate. I pick up my phone and dial Mum\u2019s number. I need to break the glass. I need to get out. And I need her help. I can\u2019t let her watch me struggle in that box anymore. As the call goes through, I feel a crack in that thick, glass wall. When she picks up, the crack lengthens.<\/p>\n

\u201cMum? It\u2019s me. There\u2019s something I have to tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n

The crack begins to let the sunshine in. I\u2019ve missed the sunshine.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":114,"menu_order":7,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":["meghan-dewar"],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[50],"contributor":[77],"license":[],"class_list":["post-168","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","chapter-type-numberless","contributor-meghan-dewar"],"part":77,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/168","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/114"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/168\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":276,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/168\/revisions\/276"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/77"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/168\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=168"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=168"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=168"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=168"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}