Let me tell you how I know that Christmas ornaments are more beautiful when they are breaking. When tiny shards of red and green and silver glass spray into the air so small they almost look like dust, but dust is not that pretty. It is almost impossible to explain how cheated I now feel whenever I see perfectly arranged lights or patterned ornaments like red and silver, big and small, all round and intact, when they are so much more stunning broken apart from the whole—burst into chaos.
The same is not true for people. I don’t want to tell you how I know that, but the knowledge is interlinked. The two pieces of information hold hands in my memory. Like my father held mine as he dragged me through Macy’s to get a gift for my sister Judy, because I knew Santa wasn’t real, but she didn’t—but she would, soon. The eleven o’clock news would tell her, later.
The skylight, too, like the ornaments, was prettier apart. It rained glass and debris and made everything so impossibly bright. Almost like a miracle. In the air, between the ceiling and the floor, it was as beautiful as what I imagined angels look like, though I didn’t think those were real, I would know, soon, that they were, and that they were terrible.
My father covered my eyes when the sound came. It came behind all the light, which I guess it does, but I did not know that then. The sound took my breath away. It was like wind and scream and a vacuum all at once. And breaking, of course. Everything breaking.
What you’ve heard is true: Angels come from the sky. They travel by twin-engine Beechcraft Barons. They are attracted to sparkling lights, like chandeliers and engagement rings. People rushed them toward water because they flashed up too brightly. Because they are on fire. They were plunged into the fountain in the middle of the mall. The one that was filled with dirty coins and bottle caps. The one my father always gave us change for. Make a wish. It’s Christmas.
So I closed my eyes, because everything was so hot then, and I wished for quiet, but what I got was the sound of colored glass, and it sounds just the same as people. Bursting.
