He was at her doorstep, out of breath, unsure of himself. There had to be something wrong. No one on earth is strong enough to carry burden on their back. It breaks you down; it makes you fall to your knees and crawl, leaving too many bruises to go on. Mark knew this. His hand lingered on her door. He didn’t have to knock; he didn’t have to get involved. A few months ago, he likely would have run away. However, there was not an ounce of hesitation within his fist as it came in contact with the wood.

            Her eyes were glass.

            “Why are you here?” He couldn’t tell if she sounded annoyed or scared.

            The room was unbelievably messy. He saw empty bottles strewn about, tissues so abundant the floor beneath them was hard to spot. The house resembled his apartment, far too closely.

            “Can I come in?” He asked, responded with a nod. However, her stance did not shift. “I want to buy your guitar.”

            “You can’t play.”

            “I’m going to learn.”

 Jenni uncomfortably led him through the entry. It seemed like a different house, one in which he was not welcome. There was a picture frame face down on the counter.

“Where’s your mother? I wanted to say hello,” Mark tried to make small talk. A certain word seemed to have an effect on Jenni as her hands rolled into fists.

“She’s away.” Jenni said it abruptly. Noticing the look of curiosity on his face, she then added, “There’s some important information she needs to personally tell my grandparents.”

“Your grandparents on your mother’s side of the family?”

“Well, the other ones are dead, aren’t they?” Her eyes were locked on a window, closed by a curtain.

“What does she need to tell them?”

“What the hell does that have to do with you?” She snapped, standing up, eyes still fixed on the window.

“What’s wrong with you? What’s going on?” Mark found himself slowly getting upset as well.

She shot her eyes at his. For a moment they were two oceans, both hiding something far beneath the surface. They flashed back to glass. “How many people do we walk past in our life. What about them? How many have died, how many strangers have I seen and never cared for. There must be thousands. How many people mean nothing to me? How many funerals will I miss? Everyone is so insignificant; i