She'd always been delicate. Even from the start, her parents handled her with utmost care lest their tiny child might break if not swaddled in three times her weight in blankets. They watched her closely, held her hand at all times when outside the house, eschewed the parks and playgrounds where rougher children would play, only let their anxious care relax when convinced she soundly slept and even then they would lean their heads down over her small pink lips to listen to her breathe. She flourished with the beauty of a hothouse flower, translucent to the sun, its petals soft and unblemished even from the windblown scrape of one against another. She became a constant fixture in the drawing room, among her books and the small upright piano whose keys tinkled lightly to the merest brush of her fingers. Her tutors changed frequently, college students who would spend a morning or evening with her laying out the lessons for the week. Her progress, always steady and diligent, was never remarkable, and after a term or so, her tutors would move on to a more compelling interest or promising position.
As she grew, her doctors had to concede that her condition was not as dire as initially suspected. Her small heart continued to pump, her lungs drew in the still air of their own accord, while her thin legs held her straight and, under the tutelage of a ballet mistress, learned a certain etheric grace. Gradually the rounds of acceptable outings expanded beyond the library and museums to include the theater and the shopping galleria. Her eyes widened at the displays, but it was the bustle of people in all their robust carelessness that captivated her most. She envied their confident strides, the loudness of their voices, the solidity of their commonplace purchases, their wide feet and easy ownership of space. In the silent inner reaches of her heart, she determined that she must learn how to become one of them.
She knew nothing of rebelliousness. Tantrums only confused her ingrained docility. Any risk held an unspeakable threat, and her foremost concern was not to increase her parents' vigilant anxiety. As with the rest of her education, she took on the challenge methodically. "How do you do that?" she asked one tutor when they passed the ice-skating rink. "Please show me how to cook," she entreated another. She began to assert her independence in small ways, choosing her own clothes, painting her nails, preparing her lunch, opting for a different route for her daily walks. Her tutors noticed the change in her and began to encourage her to try new things. They invited her onto the campus and took pleasure in her wonder at the laundromat and cafeteria. Once on their own ground, removed from the confines of the drawing room, they teased and played with her, ruffled her hair, and chased her down to tickle her.
Bit by bit, she sloughed off the habits of her fragility. With every experience and skill she gained, she cracked anew the porcelain of her doll-like existence. She could see the chips of her former self scattered on the floor of the drawing room and her old fears tucked into the pages of her favorite stories. As she moved through the room, the cast-off shards clinked together like the plink of the piano keys. They no longer had place or meaning to her, and in a final act of emergence, she swept her fragile chips into a pile and boxed them up to set out at the curb for the trash collectors.
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