Glass Jar

The other day, I saw the strangest thing.

I was standing on the sidewalk,

and across the street, parallel to me,

in the beauty shop window,

I saw a girl in a giant glass jar.

The jar had no lid and it was clear.

I could see the girl staring me in the eyes.

I wondered how she got in there. Or if she even knew she was in the jar.

How long had she been there?

Does she know that she’s there?

Could she get out?

Has she tried?

I didn’t ask, though, I just stared. In a strange way,

I kind of envied her because she did not have to

figure out the world

like the rest of us. No one ever taught the rest of us

how to navigate through life.

We just had to learn,

but all she had to figure out was the jar,

the cold, glossy glass that surrounded her,

the ridged rim that hovered over her head

that connected to the opening. Was that all she knew?

I imagined there was no fear

of what tomorrow may bring her

because she knew that she would still be

in the same place, subjected to the same treatment.

I also felt bad for her, though. Did she know everything she was missing?

Did she know that there is a whole world

that she’d never be able to experience

if she stays in the jar?

As I watched the girl in the glass jar, I saw people passing,

glaring and making faces. People pointed and whispered.

I didn’t hear what they said, but I imagined

the people thought her strange

to just stay there. Although

the street was busy with people passing

and the occasional car skidding by,

the girl was alone

because no one addressed her except me.

I made a face and the girl made one back,

so I walked away, and the girl followed me.

I stopped. So did the girl, and we stared again.

I reached my hand towards her, but

my hand stopped and hit the glass,

and for a minute,

I thought I saw my own reflection.