Walking on Eggshells

My marriage started with moving Russian and American households into one small apartment. The moving company was unusually reckless, and it was surprising. I moved in Kansas City at least three times before and never saw workers as rude and as negligent, no less than Russian gruzchiki – men who load and unload – whose manners and culture are replaced with muscles. I would swear that they were Russians if not for their Midwestern accents. The three strong men had not secured our furniture in the truck; neither had they put any padding between cabinets, sofas, and boxes. I would not care for anything, but the view of the broken mirror in my china cabinet was the last straw.

“They broke the mirror! Honey, did you see it?! This is a terrible sign in Russia! We are doomed!”

My new husband laughed, “We Americans don’t believe in superstitions!”

“You might not believe in anything, but this company will pay for damages!”
 “Honey, the contract clearly says that the company is not liable for damages.”

“I would understand if they were not liable if they loaded the truck with caution. My previous movers came with wrapping blankets, wrapping tape, and carried each piece like it was glass.”

“Honey, look what I remember!” My new husband hugged me and, lifting me up, carried me over the threshold, placing me on the other side of our new apartment entrance. I stood there alone, horrified - my new husband and I ended up on the opposite sides of the threshold.

“Mama!” My son, usually even-tempered, anxiously exclaimed in Russian, “He didn’t step over the threshold with you! This is not a good sign!”

I said nothing; my husband was confused enough. But the fact that we hugged over the threshold was a sign of our separation. That I knew from my childhood. Every Russian knows that. The broken mirror and the embrace over the threshold took my sleep and appetite away.

The following morning, I went into the kitchen to make our first breakfast, my traditional two eggs, sunny-side up. I washed the eggs with soap and wiped them with a paper towel.  Salmonella is a horrible thing. I almost lost my son to it when he was five. I washed my hands and then cracked the first egg with a knife, beginning the sacred egg ceremony. Then the second egg. I took the eggshells and crushed them inside of my palm before throwing them into the trash. I intended to be a perfect wife, remembering how my mother always criticized me for not breaking the eggshells. Would my first marriage have survived, if I had listened?

My husband showed up in the kitchen, “Where do you think you are you going?”

“Jogging. I didn’t want to bother anybody and wanted leave after I had my breakfast.”

“In those tight pink pants?” 
"Why?"

“It is not that I do not trust you. I do not trust those guys out there. You had better wear something more neutral.”

“I like my clothes. Do you want some eggs?”

“Oh, sure!”

I started my usual egg ceremony and heard, “Honey, let me show you how to make eggs.”

My new husband took two eggs with his right hand and cracked them both, UNWASHED, at the edge of a skillet, pouring out whole yokes and whites on the hot surface. 
“This is the way to make eggs!” 
I always joked that I am an Oriental woman, so I said nothing and appreciated the training opportunity, but only until I saw him stacking halves of eggshells back into the egg container before putting the carton into the fridge.

“Oh, no, no! Dirty eggshells can kill you. Have you heard of salmonella? You need to throw out the eggshells; but, before throwing them out, you should crush them!”

My husband gave me a frustrated look. “And it matters why?”

“This is a bad luck not to crush the eggshells, my mother taught me since I was a little girl.”

He retorted, “You are not supposed to be superstitious!”

“I’m not superstitious!”

“YOU are not superstitious? You, who made such a big deal about carrying you over the threshold the wrong way? You, who made such a big deal about the broken mirror like someone was going to die!”

“But when you carried me over and placed me on the other side of the threshold and then kissed me over it – that was a horrible sign! We never even shake hands over the threshold in Russia! This is unthinkable, and I told you precisely how to do it. I felt like you intentionally did everything wrong. We are supposed to cross over it together and then kiss inside of the house.”

“As soon as you told me that our marriage was doomed, my insides shrunk…”

“Scott, you don’t understand! My first marriage in Russia took place in a court house. I wanted everything right this time but, instead, you dropped the unity candle, and then the moving company broke the mirror in my china cabinet. Everything went wrong.”

“But this is just a mirror that broke, not our marriage. We have something more precious than a mirror. I understand it is valuable to you, but still these are only things.”

“Let me tell you that nothing can be worse than breaking even the smallest mirror, but mine was as big as the china cabinet. My mother’s father fell dead on the day my grandmother broke her mirror and saw her own reflection in it.”

“Did he cut herself with that mirror and then died? I do not get it!”

“No, it has nothing to do with cutting my grandfather or my grandmother. It is a belief, it is mysticism, if you wish. It is a sign. People in Russia believe in a broken mirror!”

“Then, I don’t get it.”

I looked at my new husband like he fell from the moon. He looked at me like I fell from even further away. We were married just for three short months, and I didn’t sleep a single night in this new apartment where everything felt hostile to me. I did nothing right under the searching look of my new husband. 

“I try not to intimidate you with my culture, but you do not let me breathe in this house. I walk on eggshells every day. I knew that when you dropped the candle, and then the mirror broke… our marriage wouldn't last. I knew it!”

Several years later, my mother saw me in the kitchen making eggs. Laughing, I told her the story that took place in the kitchen several years ago. 
“You got a fight over eggshells?"
“Mama, not over eggshells, but over the EGGSHELLS.” 
“I don’t know what you are talking about! This is the first time I’ve heard of it!”