Luck/Smoke shell

"If you step on a crack, you'll break your mother's back." The superstition kept replaying in my mind due to all the cracks in the sidewalk. I couldn't help but wonder if something like that could happen. There wasn't any scientific way for something like this to happen, but I kept my feet away from them, just in case.

I thought of the other superstitions that people commonly referred to- breaking a mirror causes the person who broke it bad luck; Friday the 13th is unlucky; walking under a ladder gives the person bad luck; its bad luck to sing sing or sleep at the dining room table. I cringed because I knew I had done all these things at one time or another. But did it explain why all these things kept happening to me?

The logical side of me kept yelling "of course not! They don't mean anything!" but another, more open-minded part of me had to wonder. Never in my life had I felt that things were so out of control and that someone else held my fate in their hands. First, I got pregnant my senior year. Then, he left me. Then, I finally made the decision the next day to keep the baby. A week later, I had a miscarriage.

"Should have carried a horse shoe I guess," I mumbled to myself as I reached my house. I was about to put my key into the door when I heard someone pull into my driveway. I turned around and saw him get out.

My heart plummeted to the floor when I saw him playing with the white rabbit's foot that he kept on his key chain.
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I used to have a lot of strength, used to have no problem smiling. I was completely care-free. In fact, that was one of the things you liked best about me, because my giggles were contagious.

Imagine, if you will, a ball that has many layers to it. I was solid. Without my realizing it, every day that was spent with you, a small piece of a layer was chipped away. And then another, and another. You told me I wasn't good enough and that I needed to change. So I did. And another piece chipped away. Then another, and another.

Now there is only a thin layer left, holding everything in. That thin layer? It has a few holes in it. If you look closely you can see past the front and notice the emptiness inside. Will you love me tomorrow? I now understand the hesitation- because my tomorrow there won't be anything left. I will soon become a statistic.

Imagine, if you will, a puff of smoke. Its soft and barely contained. Luckily, this puff of smoke was carried away by the winds of change. This little puff of smoke is going to grow its layers back so that someone else can adore my giggles and care-free nature.