Cracked Cup
I'd seen the cracked cup on my grandma's diningroom table, painstakingly glued together, for years. Nobody, and I mean nobody used it, but from time to time, it was filled with wildflowers that somehow held the glue-test of time.
I had to ask. One day I asked her where the cracked cup came from, and she looked at me with a faraway look in her eyes, smiling at something that I couldn't see.
"It's like this, she replied, your grandfather (now deceased) was having a cup of coffee in that cup when he proposed to me, and he got so nervous when he pulled the ring out, that the cup went flying and the ring landed in it."
"That's why it's so special?", I asked.
"Yes, you see, we didn't have much back then and that cup was one of a set of two and it was my best at the time. So, when he sent it flying out of total nervousness, and the ring landed in it, small though it was, it seemed like a sign that that cup should be kept and cherished, just as I cherished him all those years. He'd also brought me wildflowers that night, and I honor his memory by placing some in it every now and then."
As I gazed at her expression, filled with love and memories, I knew that the cracked cup was priceless. You can't put a value on love and trust.
mn - 2008


Comments: 16
Anna del C.
Author of "The Silent Warrior Trilogy"
http://www.annadelc.com