Black Boxes. Caroline Smailes

~Or have I simply manipulated my memory into believing that I knew?~

      [voiced: blink blink]

      [volume: low]

      The countdown to my period lasted for twelve days.

      My cycle was regular.

      Twelve days from ejaculation to expected blood.

      Like the twelve days of Christmas.

       ~That's a song isn't it?~

      You'd know the words.

      I can't remember them all.

      Just the five gold rings bit.

      The words are slow and operatic.

      [voiced: sings operatically five gold rings]

      [volume: high]

      Five golden rings.

      Or five gold rings.

      It makes a difference.

      The gold or the golden.

      Adjective: gold makes me assume that the rings are indeed made of gold.

      Adjective: golden suggests a matter coloured gold, perhaps containing gold, but not necessarily being gold.

      There's a difference.

      A subtle yet noteworthy difference.

      [sound: a loud sigh]

      You should use five golden rings.

      One for me.

      One for Frau Gothel Sue.

      And one for the next.

      And one for the next after the next.

      And one for the next after the next after the next.

      They'd be flimsy and able to be snapped.

      Nothing ever lasts.

      Not for forever.

      It just seems to go around and around and around on the spot.

      A ring.

      A circle.

      The ending and the beginning are one.

      Moulded together.

      I was due my period on a Friday.

       ~Yes I remember everything.~

      You see I was in Newcastle that day.

      I was buying my birthday present from you.

      You'd given me twenty pounds to spend.

      Twenty pound coins.

      I was to buy something appropriate from you to me.

      Because I was difficult.

      Your word, not mine.

      I think that you meant difficult to buy for.

      And you said, I am too busy.

      You were too busy with your PhD and your university hours.

      Too busy.

      Busy.

      Busy.

      Busy.

      I was difficult~…~

      Elliptical construction noted.

      Yet not fully understood.

      [sound: a guttural laugh]

      Adjective: Difficult.

      Needing much planning.

      Full of problems.

      Trouble.

      Noun: Ana.

      Hard to tolerate.

      Hard to comprehend.

      Hard to unravel.

      Hard to answer.

      Hard to deal with.

      Hard to fulfil.

      Hard to cope with.

      Hard to control.

      Hard to please.

      Hard to satisfy.

      [sound: a guttural laugh]

      Hard to convince.

      Hard to persuade.

      In considering what it is to be me.

      I have become difficult.

      Difficult has become Ana.

       ~Highlight or tick the ones that apply!~

       ~Do I fulfil one?~

       ~Do I fulfil two three four?~

       ~Do I fulfil all of the above?~

      Perhaps now is the time to answer.

      [sound: a guttural laugh]

      The answer to my previous question should be written on a postcard.

      You'll need a stamp.

      Remember to lick the stamp.

      With your tongue.

      Address it to ANA.

      Not ALEX+ANA.

      ANA in the black box.

      Owner of the first golden ring.

      The one that turned to dust.

      The once keeper of a golden ring.

      Until it crumbled with the pressure of her fingertips.

      My fingers.

      [sound: fingers clicking]

       ~Am I being difficult?~

      I wouldn't say that I was.

      I'd say that I was being pedantic.

      Or even that I was being finicky.

      Finicky is a nice word.

      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