Grasping at shards

After eighteen months of covid lock-downs, the delivery of packages of varying sizes, shapes and sense, no longer excites me. For instance, last week I received an electric shaver for de-pilling my lounge chair. It was good to remove all those odd little nubbins and threads that build up over time, but the delivery of the de-piller provoked no joy, neither did the humane mouse traps, which were in fact much more essential.

Over time the packages add up and each of them comes with its detritus, plastic all the way for some items, particularly those cheap nonsenses bought on a whim and usually dispatched from China. Then there are the eco-sensitive senders in plain brown cardboard. Most come in a mix of the two, cardboard exterior, packing peanuts or bubble-wrap inside.

I've always moved house a lot, I'm a peripatetic sort, and when I received packing materials I would keep it in the garage or the shed. But now I live in a studio apartment, AKA one room, and I don't even have space for my clothes, let alone 'one day' bubble wrap. Having said this, I still have a lot of it lying around, causing alarm in the night when I accidentally tread on it in the dark and hear a strange pop or crackle. I do try to clear out the rubbish on a regular basis but it still builds up.

Now I'm on the move again, this time to my parents' house, which means living in an even smaller room. I lost my job and can't survive on government benefits, they don't even pay the rent. So I'm back with mum and dad and none of us are happy about it. I'm thirty-six!

I don't have much to pack, just a bed, the nubby armchair and whole lot of books. And I guess the studenty brick and plank bookshelves on which they sit. Dad's coming in the morning to help me move with his old station wagon and trailer. I feel as pathetic as I ever have, and that's saying something.

The clothes fit in a suitcase, the kitchen stuff in a largish box, the books in whatever I can fit them in. The rest of the boxes and packaging will just have to go. As I carry it downstairs in a bundle one small box slips out of my arms and bounces down the treads. With each bounce there is a terrible tinkling sound, like shattering glass. By the time it comes to rest at the last step, I couldn't imagine there being anything left but glass dust, or the dust of whatever is in the box.

After dropping all the other packaging in the recycling room, I went back for the mystery box. It was brown cardboard, about 20cms by 15cms and maybe 2cms thick. There was no label on it and I had no idea where it had come from. I give it a gentle shake. Yep, definitely broken, whatever it was. I suddenly felt nervous about it. What if it was something dangerous.

Now to make a decision. If I didn’t know what it was then I wouldn’t miss it if I threw it away. I could do that right now, especially as it was broken. If it was a gift that someone had sent me, there would be a label on it. Having no label was the weirdest part. Maybe it got attached to another parcel by mistake? Somehow.

I decided to take it back to my room and carefully open it. What could be the harm and I was curious now. So I sat on the bare floor boards with my one sharp knife and carefully made a slit along one end. Then the long side followed by the other end. Very slowly I raised the ‘lid’.

Initially, it was underwhelming. It was a sealed pocket of thick plastic and inside I could see a sheet of sheer glass, completely in pieces. There was no letter or documentation that I could see, just a bag of glass bits. I was about to throw it onto the rubbish pile when I saw a fragment of a word that appeared to be engraved on the glass. The fragment said ‘inner’.

A quick brain scan told me that this was probably ‘winner’, as dinner and sinner seemed unlikely. Did I win something or achieve an award? Well, no, doubtful. I had entered a few drawing and cartooning competitions over the years but not for many months, so, no. I had to see what else was engraved on the glass, fully expecting to find someone else’s name.

There were only half a dozen pieces large enough to have legible writing on, so I pulled each out and lay them on the floor. One said, ‘020’, another ‘xemplar’, a couple of random letters and finally, ‘abriel’, which was a large part of my first name. It was now hard to think that this was not intended for me. I started going through the other pieces, desperately searching for a clue, but the only other hint was ‘Firs’. So I was a first prize winner, for something that happened in 2020, and it was something ‘exemplary’ that I had done.

I had absolutely no idea. I had no way of finding out. This achievement, which would have boosted my flagging confidence, was lost to me.