Ruth Writes

‘Jules, I’m obsessed. That mug is going to look so gorgeous when it’s done,’ Sophia says. Jules leans back a bit, smiling proudly at her creation. She’s surprised herself at how good she is at pottery, a newfound talent. She’s had a very relaxing couple of hours working away at her mug. She looks at Sophia’s that has a wonky circumference.

‘I love yours,’ she says. Sophia rolls her eyes and laughs.

‘I want to say it was a creative choice, but I think I just suck at pottery,’ she replies. They both laugh and she feels a little lighter. The pottery instructor claps his hands together and asks for everyone to bring their mugs up to the kiln. Like children in school, they all make their way across the classroom and soak up the teacher’s compliments as they leave them down. They wash their hands, gather their stuff and say goodbye until tomorrow evening. Outside the studio, Jules loops an arm through Sophia’s.

‘Thanks for this, it’s been a real help taking my mind off you know,’ she trails off.

‘The shitebag who broke your heart?’ Sophia offers. Jules cringes but laughs it off and Sophia apologises.

‘That was harsh,’ she says.

‘No, it was correct,’ Jules replies.

‘Wanna go get drunk?’ Sophia asks.

‘Yes please.’

The next day, they return to their pottery class, still suffering slightly after their boozy night. They sit in the same seats they were in yesterday but today their table is covered in a range of paints and brushes and they each have an empty palette. In silence, because talking is still too loud and neither of them have the brain capacity to muster a sentence, they choose their colour schemes and fill their palettes with dollops of paint. Despite her pounding headache, Jules is excited to paint her mug and make it pretty. The instructor starts handing out the fired mugs. When he gives Sophia hers, he stops at their table and puts a hand on Jules’ shoulder.

‘Jules, I’m afraid your mug didn’t make it. It exploded in the kiln last night,’ he says, softly as if breaking the news of the death of a loved one and not to be dramatic, but that’s how she kind of felt. She had worked so hard on her little mug, and she had been so proud of it. She had worked hard on her relationship as well and that too had exploded. Tears rush to her eyes, and she clears her throat loudly as she nods her head.

‘You can paint one of the spares if you like?’ he suggests. She nods her head again, unable to speak. She’s gutted. She was really looking forward to having her first cup of tea in a mug she made when she got home. Through her sadness, a flicker of clarity shines through that adds a bright side. She feels more upset now after her mug combusted than she did last week when her relationship did.