Closing Pandora's Box

The following post is by a good friend who used to blog herself once. She had posted this before on her blog, but seeing as it is a highly pertinent issue today, which many people may find themselves in, I asked her if I could use it to share with my readers. She agreed. Thank you ever so much Smiley, you gem.

*****

“So, did anyone call today?” Zack asked popping a spoonful of spaghetti into his mouth. He was starving.

“Mum rang this morning asking whether we had received the parcel she sent and then Ryan rang later this afternoon,” Sammy said pouring a glass of water and taking a huge gulp.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, Ryan from London. You remember him?”

“What did he want?” Zack asked starting to chew slowly.

“Oh nothing much, we were just talking about stuff, you know,” Sammy said reaching for a spaghetti string from Zack’s plate. She slipped it into her mouth and took a seat next to him on the couch.

“What stuff?”

“Well, he told me he went to see his mum today. I told you his parents are separated, didn’t I? And then he said we should come down to London during the summer break. He said he'd love to meet you,” Sammy laughed, remembering Ryan’s words.

“How long did you guys talk for?”

“About forty five minutes I think, not sure. It was good to talk to him. He said he left me something on my Facebook wall,”

“Did you check?”

“No, didn’t get time. Been revising all day,” Sammy stifled a yawn, took the empty plate from Zack’s hands and placed it on the table. She sat back on the couch, stretched her legs out and placed her head in Zack’s lap. He reached for the remote and started flicking through the channels.

“How’s that going?”

“Booooring. I missed you today. The day just went on and on and on,” Sammy said looking up into his face. Strands of dark unkempt hair fell into eyes. She studied the long column of his throat as her fingers played with the buttons on his white shirt. They'd been married for forty four days now.

“Really? That bad, aye?” his eyes twinkled with warm amusement. “And don’t you ruin this shirt of mine, I think it’s the only wearable one left in my whole wardrobe, thanks to you!” He grinned. Sammy laughed and tugged a little harder at the button.

“You’re worried more about your shirts, huh?” she said, looking away pretending to pout. He turned her face back and kissed her cute button nose.

“So what you say, we go to London this summer?” He pulled the ribbon out of her hair and let it fall loose. He loved her hair.

“Yeah that would be great,”

“We could go to Bath and visit my old uncle and aunty too, ain’t seen them lot for ages,” Zack said smirking remembering how his wife disliked his old fashioned family.Sammy punched him in the chest.

“Ha ha. Very funny! Ryan mentioned Bath; he said it was a lovely place to visit for a day,”

Zack’s hand paused its play of her hair.

“Can you just stop that,” he said suddenly.

“Stop what?”

“Ryan. You’re always talking about him. Ryan this and Ryan that,”

“No I’m not,”

Sammy sat up, lifting her head from his lap. The moment was gone replaced by something else.

“Yes you are. It’s always you and Ryan,”

“There’s no me and Ryan. What you talking about?”

Zack got up off the couch and faced her. His face was turning a slight shade of pink and all humour had vanished from his tired eyes.

“I bet there is,” He said ever so quietly.

There was silence in the room as Sammy stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.

“That’s just crazy. He’s just a really good friend that I met on Facebook. The guy lives a million miles away, don’t know what…”

“Oh so that’s what it is, is it?” he cut her short. “So if he was closer things would be different, is that it?”

“Hell no. That’s not what I meant. You’re taking it the wrong way Zack,”

“Am I? I don't think so!” He was shouting now

“Look, he’s just a friend. He’s helped me through a lot….”

“You care about him?”

“What?”

“I asked do you care about him.”

“Well of course I care about him, he’s my friend, Zack,” Sammy said, her voice quivered. She was hurt. She didn’t know where this was going.

“You know when mum and dad got divorced he was the only person I had who I could talk to. He’s always been there for me. Our friendship is special. I don’t see what the big deal is," She looked away as the memories came flooding back.

“The big deal? You want to know the big deal? You’re always going on about him and I’m sick and tired of it! Before the wedding you couldn’t stop talking about him and all your incredibly fun times together," he waved his hands around the room, the words coming out like a fierce storm. "You were even talking to him on our wedding day. And now look at you. How do you think that makes me feel? He’s helped…”

“What on earth is that supposed to...”

“Just shut up!” he spat the words at her and Sammy’s eyes widened. Zack never spoke to her like that. His jaw was tight, his eyes icy. He was angry. He looked up into her face and took a step towards her. Fear suddenly gripped Sammy. Zack would never hit her.

“It’s either me or him, do you hear?” he whispered the words close to her face. She didn’t say anything, too shocked to open her mouth. She didn’t recognize this Zack.

He turned around, grabbed his mobile and keys from the table and walked towards the door.

“Zack! This is crazy,” she said to his back as he walked out the room.

“Zack!” she called.

She heard the front door open and her pulse raced.

“Zack! Where are you going?”

There was silence.

And then the door slammed shut.

@Smiiiiiiiiley_x

*****

What do you think? Have you ever been in such a situation, be it as Zack, Ryan or Sammy?

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I told my dear friend Rosaline I was having trouble writing and she recommended that I should grab my pen, and just free write. “The words will flow by themselves.” The only catch being, there’s a time limit. “Try 3 minutes.” I did. Except I gave myself 5 minutes. This is what became of it. Below is an un-edited extract from a letter I am writing to B, written in 5 minutes. It’s not been changed in anyway so excuse all the mistakes. I hope she doesn’t read this before I give her the letter next week!

*****

It’s been a long time since I last wrote to you. A week I think. What’s the date today anyway? I can’t check either, well I can but I can’t be bothered as I always write it at the end of the day’s scribbles. Where did I end the scribbles last time? I don’t really like endings if I’m perfectly honest with you. I wonder why they say goodbye. Where is the good in bye? Do you know? I have spent hours pondering that question but to no avail.

But what is a beginning? No more than another beginning’s end. And just like the last paragraph, starting on this virgin page, first line, came to an end, so do many other things. For sometimes an ending marks something new. It’s a delicate moment, like the starting of a new diary. You open the first page, your pen hovering in your hand, the molecules of ink waiting to burst out and bring life to the page. And yet you hesitate. You wait as your mind thinks of the that first stroke, that first dot, that first line, that first word, that will flood the page. But you make sure, perfectly sure that that first contact is perfect. For how many pages do we rip out of the diary because they were “not right”? A collection of first-page-less diaries. The real delicacy comes after you’ve written that first letter, or the first word, or the first line, or the first page. The real delicate moment is when you lift up your pen and look at what you have done. The real delicate moment is then when you ask yourself if that page stays or whether it ends up in the bin. B, if and when you ever find yourself at such a delicate stage of a beginning just remember the seed in the soil. The farmer throws them haphazardly, orientated in all sorts of ways. No two seeds land the same. Probably. And yet only those that persist and persist and persist rise to the surface and feel the wind in their shoots and the rain on their roots. It doesn’t matter how bad your first word looks, just keep going. And keep that first page, so it reminds you of that delicate beginning. So it reminds you, that the beginning doesn’t have to be the end.

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Photograph of the letter to a friend, taken from personal photography.