Black Boxes. Caroline Smailes

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      That can go onto my list of fine words.

      [sound: scratching]

      I remember that I was wandering around the city centre.

      Looking for something for me from you.

      But I wasn't really focusing.

      I wasn't really interested.

      You see I was in a haze.

      I was existing in that haze.

      In an exciting blur.

       ~I know that I've said that already!~

      I'm not brainless.

       ~Or am I?~

       ~When did it happen?~

       ~Did I become brainless with motherhood?~

       ~Or did I become brainless when I abandoned my PhD?~

      Your twenty pound coins jingled in my jeans' pocket.

      [sound: rattle of coins within a china container]

      I bought a round chocolate fudge cake from Marks and Spencer.

      And a bunch of yellow roses.

      Yellow because you liked yellow.

      Roses for love.

      But not a single red rose of love.

      A bunch of roses to show my love for you.

      Not your love for me.

      Because the thought that you'd ever love me was funny.

      That was a funny joke.

       ~It still makes you laugh!~

      [sound: a snort]

      [sound: a high-pitched scream]

      Yellow.

      The rose was once a symbol.

       ~Once upon a time.~

      A rose was once a thing of love and devotion.

      Lovers communicate(d) with flowers.

      Those flowers carry their own language.

      Colours and tone and words.

      The language of flowers whispered words of adoration to lovers across time.

      [sound: a sigh]

      The words that you whisper(ed) to me were in the agglutinative language of Punjabi.

      The adoration was stamped on by the subject.

      Then the object.

      Then the verb.

      [sound: stamp stamp stamp foot to floor]

      Our words were always yellow.

      Shopping.

      I was shopping.

      My memory is sort of poor.

      Backwards forwards, then round and round.

      Shopping for me.

      From you.

      Because I was difficult.

       ~Remember?~

      And everything that I bought for me from you was from Marks and Spencer.

      Because you liked fine things.

      And they sold fine things.

      And the twenty pound coins were almost gone.

      The loose coins jingled in my jeans' pocket.

      [sound: rattle of coins within a china container]

       ~I'm setting the scene.~

      You were difficult to buy for.

       ~Yes I know that I was buying for me!~

      But you were difficult to buy for, even when buying for me.

      Your tastes were so precise.

      So straight.

      No creases.

      No deviation.

      Straight.

       ~Why am I telling you all of this?~

      I'm setting the scene.

      The scene: ANA shopping.

      [sound: a guttural laugh]

      Then I think that I wandered into a chemist.

       ~No I didn't wander.~

      I wouldn't have wandered.

      I would have rushed.

      I would have raced.

      I would have been rapid.

      I would not have wandered.

      [sound: stomping footsteps on carpeted floor]

      And I bought a test.

      The Test.

      The holder of knowledge.

      The answerer of questions.

      It was in a blue box.

      I remember being shocked by the price.

      But I can't recall the price.

       ~I think that it was over five pounds.~

       ~Maybe even six pounds!~

       ~Or was it seven?~

      Funny how memory plays tricks.

       ~Not ha ha funny!~

       ~Obviously.~

      Funny as in odd.

      Strange.

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