Magnets

Have you ever seen magnetic tiles? They’re a kids’ toy, usually made up of brightly colored pieces and stuck together at different angles. I’ve seen kids make grand houses or castles out of them with elaborate triangle roofs and arch doors. You can rearrange them at will, and you can break them apart without a second thought. Personally, I feel a sort of kinship with the square magnet tiles. They’re most often stuck on the side as a wall support, just holding everything up. Nobody would notice them first, but it wouldn’t be possible to build without them. They’re a very sensible, hard-working piece.

My hair was a triangle piece, standing proudly on top. It’s the first thing strangers notice. When I was young, old ladies would walk by and comment to my mom, “What beautiful hair she has!” My mom was an arch door through which I entered my house and admired it. My job was another triangle, but maybe an inverted one on the side. It had sharp edges that would poke if you got too close. My fiancé was a big rectangle at the very bottom of everything, supporting lots of small sections.

When I was first diagnosed, it was as if a sudden wind blew through the structure. Cancer was a schoolchild that had stomped around too closely to my life. Pieces that were stuck together shook but held firm. Magnet connections proved they were strong. The walls breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, of course, cancer sat down to play. In came its little childish fingers, prodding around to see what destruction it could leave. It plucked off the triangle piece at top. My hair, which had once been such a source of envy, fell to the floor in unceremonious clumps. The destruction had officially begun, but only on the surface.

Next came the side of my house, with the inverted triangle piece being pulled off suddenly. No more going into work every day. To tell the truth, I didn’t think this piece was as important as it was. In fact, I was even glad that it had been pulled off for a while. It was extra weight hanging off the side of my square wall. But the fact that more magnets had come undone was a shock.

Then came the arch door. It peeled away from its brethren so easily, despite the fact I had believed it so firm. With its dismissal came the absence of my family. I was unmoored, clinging to the remnants even as they were falling apart. My square wall side hung instead of staying solidly connected. But it still remained, despite swinging wildly.

Cancer became bored of the toying. It sent its hand smashing down into what bits remained held together. Pieces went flying everywhere. Parts of me I hadn’t even known existed scattered across the floor. The big rectangle piece at the bottom spun out of control and hit the wall before coming to a quiet standstill. I waited for someone to call for cancer to pick me back up and connect my parts again, but who can tell it anything? It came in, it played, and it left.

I didn’t know what to do. I was only one piece where the rest had fallen, alone and small in the world, lying in ruins.

I had always thought of myself as a side tile. One that existed simply to hold the others up. Now I realized that I needed to build a new castle. With effort, and very slowly, I found a little section next to me I had forgotten. I snapped it close to me.

I found another piece that I had never seen before. It took me a while to figure out how to attach it, but when I did, the satisfying click allowed me to hoist myself back up in the air. Then I moved again, and again, and again, continuing to rediscover fragments and find new ones. All of them were arranged differently near me. After all, it’s hard to build the same thing twice.

I find now that the magnet tiles of other people are simply not as interesting. Their structures, the way they are arranged, the colors they have chosen to line up and match so carefully…I find it boring. I know that one mischievous child could swoop in at any moment and begin making a mess of their houses. I look for the people that know what it is to start from scratch and tidy up the shambles themselves. I am learning how to tell what pieces are important to keep and which are necessary to throw away. And most importantly, I no longer think of myself as a side tile. I have become the foundation on the bottom, holding everything up.