Glass
Dallas pulled off his other sock, settling the bare foot gently in the powdery dust, sunlight glinting off its clear, polished surface.
They said glass made the best prosthetics. Dallas wondered if they had ever tried living with a pair of glass feet.
He sighed, dropping his socks on top of the wads of undyed wool hanging out of his oversized leather boots. At least glass feet didn’t ache, though he rubbed at the dull throb just below his knees where the glass fused with his legs.
The bank had been crazy today, news of the transcontinental rail line nearing completion sending people into a tailspin, bringing five cattle barons and three oil magnates to his desk, all concerned as to whether it would damage their net worth or grow their assets. It had taken an hour to talk down Mister Godfry from rearranging half of his portfolio. Even still, Dallas had received a chewing from the manager. He was dreading tomorrow. But his options for employment were limited, considering.
“Momma’s going to have another nervous spell if she finds you outside barefoot.”
Mary Alice tried to appear casual, arms crossed, one blond eyebrow arched, as if she planned to extort a sweet or penny from him in exchange for her silence. But her eyes didn’t quite meet his, lit bright with curiosity, repeatedly skittering back to his feet.
Dallas stretched his legs out fully, crossing the clear ankles and settling his heel gingerly against the ground, the faintest tink giving him pause. A tiny pebble hidden in the grass; nothing to fret about. He took a breath and relaxed his shoulders again, tipping his head back against the wall, eyes falling shut. “Then, it’d probably be best if you didn’t mention it.”
Mary Alice huffed, her skirts shushing as she settled on the ground beside him.
He pushed out a chuckle. “Momma might have an even worse spell if she finds dirt on that new dress.”
His sister snorted, the satin hissing as she brushed it smooth. “It’ll wash.”
The breeze slid slowly over them, a bit too cool, but the late afternoon sun balanced it out well enough. He flexed the bottom foot, the glass shin rubbing inside his trouser leg, heel shifting through scruffy grass blades. The enchantment sent sensations to his brain, but the feel was somehow… off.
Or maybe it was simply the rarity of it, the touch of grass almost foreign now. For the past nine months, nearly every step he had taken had been padded with wool or double layered carpets. The lifelike movements and sensations of the glass allowed him to walk nearly as well as before. But each step was calculated now, plotted five paces in advance. It was slowly becoming second nature, but it made his brain tired, the constant watching and planning for something so simple as placing a foot on the ground.
“Not saying that it was a good thing, the fire and all,” Mary Alice said softly, “but they are very pretty.”
Dallas opened his eyes, following his sister’s gaze.
The light cut through them, bouncing off the miniscule air bubbles caught in the center, throwing little speckles of gold on the carriage house wall above them. A broken window caught the flickers with a taunting gleam.
Maybe if he was a ten-year-old girl he could think of them as she did. People didn’t balk at the idea of girls being delicate. Fragile. Breakable.
“Sorry. I suppose boys aren’t keen to being called pretty,” she said, drawing him back.
He smiled, giving her a wink to belie his conflicted feelings. “At least glass feet don’t smell.”
Her worry eased into a smirk. “That doesn’t mean the rest of you don’t.”
Dallas relished the laughter that didn’t come so easy anymore, using it to sooth the sharp edges inside him. Glass made the best prosthetics, but it left a person fragile in more ways than one.
