The glass unicorn. There is sat, placed high out of reach. It was such a beautiful creature, shining under the artificial light, and Steven could only imagine how nice it would look under sunlight. He admired that unicorn because it held the number one spot in his mother’s mind.

He wanted to hold the unicorn. It looked so smooth and perfect sitting up on that shelf. But his mother always said no.

“Wait five more years,” she would say. “When you’re thirteen I’ll let you hold it for a minute. You might break it now, Stevie, honey.”

Now he had to vacuum, and he believed his mother was just trying to tease him. All he wanted to do was touch it, feel its weight in his hand. Right now it seemed imaginary and surreal almost. He wanted to be sure it existed, and that he wasn’t crazy.

Crazy. Now there’s a word he had heard before. The night before his father left, he had come in Steven’s room, and even though he had acted like he was sleeping, Steven listened to every word he said.

“I’m sorry I have to go, Stevie, and I would take you if I could, but your mother…she’s crazy. It’s that damn unicorn. She acts like it’s living. And she’d be torn apart if I took you, and I don’t want to do that. You can put up with her, and I expect you to, and whatever you do, never let anything happen to that unicorn. Your mother’s crazy, and it’s the only thing that holds her together. I have to go.” And with that, his dad left, and he never was heard from again.

He couldn’t believe his mom was crazy, but why else would his dad have left? He wished his dad would have stayed, and thought of his speech every night in bed, but he couldn’t help feeling the urge to touch that unicorn.

“Stevie,” his mother called. “Make sure you don’t bump the stand with the unicorn on it!”

“Yes, Mom,” he yelled back, agitated. What was this, the third or fourth time she had warned him of that? It was irritating.

“Don’t bump the stand with the unicorn on it,” he said in a mocking voice as he shoved the vacuum back and forth across the carpet. “Not my precious unicorn!”

Steven was angry. Angrier than he could ever remember feeling before. And now he no longer believed the unicorn existed. It was an illusion, because his mom’s craziness was rubbing off on him. He was going to find out for sure.

He switched off the vacuum and looked for things to stand on. A chair was the first thing he moved, but when he tried that, it still wasn’t tall enough. He grabbed some blankets but his feet sunk into them and they didn’t help. Next he grabbed some books but he was hesitant to get on.

The books piled on top of the blankets looked shaky, although he had been careful to put the larger ones on the bottom. He looked up at the unicorn. There is sat, silently looking in the distance, with one leg in the air, almost wistfully reaching out to the sun. It was fake. And Steven would go crazy if he didn’t prove it. This would be a dangerous stunt to pull off, but he had to.

He climbed onto the chair and blankets, and then very slowly he climbed up onto the books. Once on those, he grabbed the shelf for balance. Now it was just within his reach.

Carefully, he reached toward the glass figure. His foot slipped and he knocked it off. Quickly he put his hand out to catch it but the smooth glass slid past his fingers. He watched in slow motion as the unicorn’s face transformed into his mother’s and shattered on the ground.

3/17/98