Black Boxes. Caroline Smailes

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СКАЧАТЬ sheets wrapped around your smooth nakedness.

      Your back was to me.

      And I left your flat.

      I left you within the crumpled sheets.

      [sound: distant rumbling of low flying aeroplane]

      You see I had had an abortion before.

      You knew that.

      But you didn't know that the baby that I had killed haunted my dreams.

      Arms missing.

      An eye missing.

      I heard his crying before I saw his twisted being.

      [sound: sobbing]

      And I knew.

      I knew from the moment that the positive blue line appeared on the test.

      I could not abort another child.

      I had no right to abort another child.

      Consequences for actions.

      I was determined to accept my fate.

      My baby.

      [voiced: my pip]

      [volume: low]

      And there was nothing that you could say or do that would alter this.

      Another abortion was not an option.

       ~You didn't know that did you?~

      But you never asked.

      You never asked the questions.

      You didn't care to ask.

      Words were not significant.

      So instead of contacting the campus doctor.

      I telephoned a Pro Life organisation.

      And I cried down the telephone.

      [sound: sobbing]

      And they said that they would help me.

      That they would help me to say no to you.

      And that they would speak to me.

      That they would be there for me.

       ~Yes I told them about you and about what you wanted me to do!~

       ~Yes I even told them your name!~

      I remember being sure that I could hear the lady taking notes.

      That I could hear her pencil jotting onto a pad.

      I called her from a payphone.

      My back sliding down the glass.

      As I spoke to her into the phone.

      I could hear her scribbling down my words.

      [sound: scribbling on paper]

      Your name.

      It is within a file.

      Within my file.

      You see I had to tell someone.

      I needed to talk to someone.

      They could only be contacted between the hours of 11am and 1pm.

      And I contacted them during those hours.

      I fought with myself.

      I forced myself to stay away from you.

      I stopped myself from phoning you.

      Well that's not exactly true.

       ~But you know that don't you?~

      I couldn't stop myself from pressing the buttons and phoning you.

      You were my obsession.

      My habit.

      And the panic grew and grew inside me.

      I'd sit next to the telephone willing it to ring.

      But it didn't.

      You had no intention of telephoning me.

      You didn't need to hear my voice.

      I needed to hear yours.

      I needed to know what you were doing.

      I needed you to be thinking about me.

      I was filled with panic.

      [sound: a sharp intake of air]

      And the panic grew and grew.

      And somehow in amongst the panic, I justified my need to telephone you.

      I allowed myself to press your numbers.

      The pads of my fingers functioned automatically.

      And I would call just to hear your voice.

      Just for the, hello.

      For your, hello.

      [voiced: hello]

      [volume: low]

      And then I would hang up.

      My fingertip poised.

      Quivering over the button.

      [sound: humming of same now vaguely recognisable tune]

      You changed your number after three weeks.

      [sound: a throaty laugh]

       ~Well you didn't did you?~

      Your mother did it for you.

      Your mother did everything for you.

      Let me remind you of the story.

       ~Are you sitting comfortably?~

      It was the you and me story at that time.

      The ALEX+ANA story.

      Then your mother stepped in.

      Penny Edwards-Knight.

      [silence]

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