Black Boxes. Caroline Smailes

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      The must was a strong word.

      It was one of your frequently used words.

      A modal verb carrying obligation.

      But that time it had a different edge to it.

      Your voice had changed to being all sweet and soft.

      It was a you must that spoke of my benefit from doing so.

      Rather than a you must that was a demand for your own personal gain.

      That's what it sounded like to me.

      But my ears were full of water.

      [sound: a guttural laugh]

      I remember that I'd never heard that tone before and I thought that you were happy.

      That I had made you happy.

      I hoped that your softness was warmth.

      Mushiness.

      I hoped that your green pea-sized heart had mushed.

      And I remember smiling to myself as I replaced the telephone.

      I remember thinking that everything was going to be good.

      To be fine.

      To be happily ever after.

      But happily ever after was never straightforward.

      Happily ever after was never just around the corner.

       ~Does happily ever after even exist?~

       ~Is it a state of mind?~

      It's not a physical condition.

      It's not location specific.

      It must be all in the mind.

      It is all in the mind.

      You see I live happily ever after.

       ~I do!~

      When I look out from my black box.

      And when I don'tblink.

      And when I don't scratch under my eyelids.

      And when I live within the redness of my eyes.

      Then I am within the happily ever after.

      Within the happily ever after that was before the now and during the then.

      I exist within theblink of a memory.

      Within theblink.

      Just after the firstblink.

      Of theblink.

      Blink blink.

      [voiced: blink blink]

      [volume: low]

      The memories are fading.

      As the redness.

      As the soreness envelops the memory.

      I become trapped within the blink.

      But I exist.

      In the here.

      In the now.

      In the then.

      In the when.

      In between the end and the beginning.

      I am trapped within this black box.

      I live happily ever after.

       ~I do!~

      [silence]

      So I walked to your flat.

      In fact I practically flew.

      The wings had sprouted from my back.

       ~Yes they had!~

      I remember the pain.

      The scratching split as my skin opened for them to emerge.

      I had white perfect feathers curving up to the sky.

       ~I did!~

      I managed a fifteen minute walk in eight minutes of flight.

      My feet brushing the ground on every fifth leap.

      And I brought the yellow roses and the round chocolate fudge cake with me.

      Still within the Marks and Spencer carrier bag.

      The handle was all wrinkled and crinkled.

      My hands were sweaty from gripping it tightly through my journey.

      And I hoped that you wouldn't mind that the bag that held your gift from you to me wasn't perfect.

      My mind was a haze.

      I had too much to think about.

      I was on the brink of something.

      [silence]

      And you opened the door.

      Before I pressed the bell.

      You opened the door, just after I opened your wrought iron gate.

      [silence]

      The wrought iron gate.

      It was twisted wrought iron.

      Once red.

      Twice black.

      The thick paint broadened the bars.

      I love(d) that gate.

      It hung with a lopsided tilt.

      The bottom of the gate trailed along the ground, leaving a faint black mark along your cracked pathway.

      The rusted hinges creaked.

      The scraping noise warned you.

      Prepared you for visitors.

       ~Why did you like to be prepared?~

       ~Why did you need to be warned?~

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