There are two types of grace in Lin's view; the physical kind and the social kind. One of these she has in abundance- to see Lin's physical grace one has only to watch her bend. It is aesthetic. She moves with an elegance uncharacteristic of earth benders, weaving and spinning on a moment's notice as she delivers powerful blows with a delicate hand.
Social grace been trickier. She has manners, certainly- she can say please and thank you, eat with the appropriate utensils at the correct moment, and mind her tongue in polite company. These things are practiced, these thing she can do.
It is grace as a state of being she is having trouble with lately. She realizes she is clutching desperately to the last shreds of it as she stares down the most menacing object in her home- her telephone.
It mocks her, sitting upright and shining in it's designated alcove in her hallway. The alabaster receiver lay across two golden prongs, stretched out as if to offer redemption to her each time she passes.
"Just call him," it whispers.
Lin will unfailingly pause each time she hears this. Sometimes for only a moment, and sometimes for minutes- only moving after she has become aware of her wringing hands and tensed muscles.
She has even taken to telling the phone, which in it's own defense remains silent most of the time, to "shut-up" as she passes it.
But today, the phone has won her attention and she leans against the opposite wall arguing with it telepathically as she fixes it with her most deadly gaze.
She considers what that phone call would mean. She thinks of a woman she saw in the market that morning, the one with arms full of produce and the darling little girl that helped her carry a single onion. She held it in her hand proudly as if she were taking some great burden from her beleaguered mother by doing so and Lin couldn't help but smile at her.
She reaches for the phone, gripping the receiver in her hand.
How bad can it really be? I'm sure I would get use to it.
Her finger falls to the dial, settling into the divot designated for number four. It is the first number in his sequence and she turns the dial slowly.
Panic grips her, recalling the moment that the little girl from the market had a complete emotional meltdown over her mother's refusal to purchase a bag of figs. She threw the onion on the ground and screeched as if she were on fire.
Lin sets the receiver back upon it's pedestal and exhales slowly.
And that is when she realizes she is crying. She is crying because of how deeply the image of that little girl's tantrum repels her. She is crying because it should be simple, she should want this. She is crying because she is sure she will never love anyone as much as she loves him. She is crying because it is one thing, one small and yet monumentally large issue, that has led her to this moment alone in the hallway.
The minutes pass and she does not leave the hallway. Instead, she sinks to the ground and sits with her chin on her knees, berating herself for her complete inability to simply get over her aversion to motherhood or to get over the love of her life. She can choose from these two options only and the pain stems from her indecisiveness. Her pitiful attempt to stop the flowing tears infuriates and chafes, "Just fucking pick one, Lin!" she shouts at herself. The sound of her strangled voice echoes in the emptiness of her home.
She remembers the mother from the market, arms full of produce, that bent low to match her howling daughter. She remembers how the woman said something, some magical phrase and smiled as her daughter calmed and retrieved the onion from the ground. That was grace as a state of being.
Lin stands finally, sniffling, and wipes at her eyes before reaching back to the telephone cord that emerges from the wall, pulling at it violently and severing it in her haste. It is the most difficult decision of her life and she does it because she knows that while she may be graceful, she will never attain grace as a state of being.