Black Boxes. Caroline Smailes

       ~You don't believe in Father Christmas?~

       ~You've never believed?~

       ~Your mother didn't allow you to fantasise?~

       ~That explains a lot!~

      [sound: a guttural laugh]

      You must have experienced that cold flurry of excitement and nervousness.

       ~I know that you will have.~

      Fumbling in your wallet.

      Checking in your wallet for a ripped out piece of paper.

       ~You know what I'm talking about!~

      That moment just before you masturbated over her image.

      [sound: a guttural laugh]

      I had read the instructions.

      Then I had peed on the non-plastic end of the white plastic stick.

      Then I had perched on the edge of the bath.

       ~Do you remember my post-grad student bathroom?~

      It was exactly the width of the toilet and the small white bath.

      It was snug.

      No shower.

      Cream walls.

      No window.

      But it was always clean.

      The toilet was never grubby.

      But the ceiling was high.

      I am remembering it being too high.

      I couldn't even reach it when I balanced on the bath.

      I couldn't even reach it when I stretched out my arm.

       ~No I'm not exaggerating!~

       ~I remember!~

      You see.

      The light bulb had blown and I couldn't reach to change it.

       ~Or was it that I didn't have a spare?~

      I can't remember.

      Anyway.

      I remember that the bathroom door was open.

      I remember looking through my legs and onto the Test.

      I remember shuffling as my pee emerged to hit the Test.

      Then I remember sitting on the edge of the bath.

      My feet inside the bath.

      No water in it.

      And I remember clutching the pregnancy test and letting drips of my pee absorb into my fingers.

      [sound: humming of same now vaguely recognisable tune]

      I saw the strong blue line gush across the result's window.

      There was no doubt.

      A positive test.

      I was pregnant.

      And my response was to cry.

      But the tears were warm.

      They were happy tears.

      I felt a surge of happiness.

      I remember because the gush shocked me.

      I smiled as the tears fell.

      And then I wiped them away with my pee-steeped fingers.

      [sound: a muffled sob]

      I phoned you.

       ~Do you remember the phone call?~

       ~Do you remember how you reacted?~

       ~Of course you don't.~

      You see it doesn't fit with the image of yourself that you have perfected over the years.

      The perfect father to Pip, Lucy, Davie and Kyle.

      The perfect partner to Ana.

      The perfect husband to Sue.

      Flawless.

      Straight.

      Immaculate.

      Sin-free and just.

      [sound: a guttural laugh]

      What you see is what you get.

      A perfected image that doesn't quite fit.

      I know that it doesn't quite fit, because I know the real you.

      I know that what you see is not what you get.

      Not at all.

      I know the twisted you.

      I know the you that hides in the shadows and waits for the dark of night to emerge.

      [silence]

      I know what you're capable of.

      It still terrifies me.

      But I have to be strong.

      I haven't long.

      This is what we both want.

      [silence]

      I remember the words that you spoke.

      I remember what you did.

       ~You can't forget!~

       ~Don't Pretend that you can't hear me.~

       ~I won't let you forget!~

      [sound: banging of a wardrobe door]

       ~Listen to me.~

       ~Please Alex.~

      I haven't long left.

      [silence]

      The telephone conversation.

      It started with my usual,hello.

      And my usual,how are you?

      Then I cried.

       ~I cried because I couldn't find the words.~

      Because I was frightened of the words.

      You kept asking, what's wrong?

      And I kept crying.

      [sound: unrecognisable sound, perhaps a muffled sob]

      And then you shouted into the receiver.

      Demanding that I told you what was wrong.

      Demanding.

      The right verb is demanding.

      [silence]

      Verb (used with object): Demand.

      An urgent asking.

      Demanding with authority.

      Summoning.

      Claiming a response.

      Etymology: Old French.

      I presume.

      It may be derived from the Latin de, which in this context could mean absolutely or totally and mandare, meaning to order.

      It was never a request.

      I was never given a choice as to whether or not I replied.

      It was required.

      It was an obligation.

      It was a requesting as a right.

      A