Oh what a tangled web we weave...
A story about how an untruth no matter how unintentional or unwittingly done,
can have repercussions of a long and profound effect.
Her hand went limp with the burden of her heart. How could she write the letter, her very soul was in protest, rendering her hand lifeless with the weight of the pen. It wilted. Hitherto it had been poised in readiness above the crisp, white, virginal paper. How could she right this terrible wrong? So much had happened since her fateful first ‘lie’. It had never started out as a lie. Not even an untruth. The pain was that she had not even had the courage to have told a lie. She simply had not said anything. It was left in the air unspoken, unknown. From that, conclusions had been made, decisions taken and now lifetimes had passed. Never to be rectified.
Who had been hurt? Certainly her, possibly him and most certainly the men who had passed through her life. Loving her but remaining unrequited. The sadness lay in the fact that she had never wanted to hurt anyone. It had all started so differently. She had yearned to be loved, but she was an innocent. Untouched by love, not knowing what she had unwittingly squandered. In that world of the heart she did not understand for she was a novice. How could she recognise the value of love when she had not known that rare gift of it’s bestowed kindness.
No, it would be impossible to right that wrong. All that is left is to give knowledge. Nothing can be expected. Indeed those people exist only in the past now. They have gone. Gone forever.
A silent tear travelled the lines of her cheek and fell quietly on the paper. She watched the fibres slowly absorb the moisture into it’s being. She picked her pen up and slowly and deliberately began to write.
My dearest love
...and so it is, I now write to that 18 year old boy, who still lives inside of you. To the boy who stood there so expectantly on that fateful night, so long ago. There in the street where you lived with the moon shining on your hopeful face. I watched it transcend into pain, as I said ‘no’. I said no, without any thought or acknowledgement of my heart. I could not bear it. I did the cowardly thing... and ran away. I Ran back to a place devoid of all love. To a place where I had learned life’s lessons of heartbreak and fear. How could I marry you? The only marriage I knew was my parents, and I had grown up living in fear because of it. I thought that was how it would be. I did not know at the time that there were alternative relationships, where people were actually happy. To me marriage was a life sentence, one of servitude, lost dreams, with the fire extinguished by contempt and bitterness. Staying together not out of a sense of love or respect but necessity to bring us children up, because that was their Victorian values. The resentment was palpable it was in the very fabric of who we were.
I ran because I was so frightened. Frightened of marriage and all it entailed, frightened of my mother, frightened of letting go of my protective barrier and frightened of being loved.
I didn’t have the benefit of being a cherished boy child. No I was a girl, who needed neither education or indulgence. My training was the kitchen sink, the rug beating and the laundry. All things which represent an ethos I heartily reject. Not for me the luxury of reading. A book would be ripped from my hands with the cutting words...
“Such a waste, you don’t need learning... the toilet needs cleaning”
If I ate from the coveted fruit bowl, I was told...
“They were not bought for you”
Each morning, my job was to placate my mother, calm her temper so for that day she would not descend into her hysterical world. This practice was repeated on my return from school and later work. If I did not, the alternative was too terrifying to contemplate. My brothers relied on me to do what they could not, I put myself in the firing line. This is where I learned my skills of negotiation. Much time had been spent in looking for her as she stormed out ‘to end it all’. If it was not that, one of us would be the unfortunate victim of her wrath. My mother did not believe in sparing the hand or the slipper or whatever was to hand. She drove me to the very edge of my sanity. She had made me feel worthless and unlovable. After all if you cannot be loved by your own mother what is wrong with you? You cannot be deserving of love. What crime did I commit? At 20, I stood on the edge of the platform waiting for the London Express to come with all it’s flailing steam. My only contemplation was to simply end the pain. What stopped me?
One thought.
And it was only one thought, that made me step back as the train thundered through with it’s urgent whistle.
I couldn’t do it to the driver.
From there I descended into a kind of living hell. If it is possible I became even more reclusive. Quiet
Please do not get me wrong. I seek no pity. I just want to tell you how it was. Why.
You know, I watched you at all the village dances. Holding another girl and oh, so wishing it was me. Did you know that? Yes, boys asked me out and maybe I did go walking a couple of times. But you see nothing could ever come of it.... I had lost you. You were my friend.
What you never knew, because I could never bring myself to tell you, was just how bad my life was. I had been banned from having boyfriends. It only became acceptable when I was in my 20’s because I think they feared I would be left on the shelf and be a spinster! So you see, just going out with you as I did, I was breaking their rules and I constantly lived in fear of them finding out. I wasn’t allowed to do lots of things. My life was governed by these oppressive rules.
She stopped. The pen rose to her mouth and she tapped it thoughtfully against her teeth.
“Of course I could be SO wrong......” a thought came to her
“Maybe it was nothing to you...
“but to me it was everything
She picked up the lovingly worn silver framed photo and gazed at the young face looking back from its proud uniform. She smiled into it’s sepia tones, and then returned it to the prominent place on the bureau where it lived.
She continued.
Then the war had come, and you enlisted, I never knew if I would ever see you again. And still I never told you how I felt.
Then there was ...the kiss
Her heart stopped and her pen too
She remembered as if was truly yesterday
You cannot hide anything in that kiss. It was one of longing, of passion of tenderness. It was where the world stopped beating and for the duration, there was only...that kiss. In that kiss everything became known. In the boisterous, celebratory hall they stood together holding onto the moment. Everyone else had evaporated away. It was at the homecoming, her friends were there, yours too but she wasn’t. Your wife.
.....you’re married now with children, and I do not want to damage that. You must understand, this is very important.... I do not wish to intrude into your life. I cannot now be a part of your life we have taken different paths. We are not the adolescent youths of yesterday. I seek closure, so that I can move on. I need to feel a place of peace. And so it is I have found that I cannot achieve it without acknowledging the past. I tried and failed.
And so the pen carried on with new vigour, pouring out her heart in a letter she felt sure she would
once again never send, but always written in a way that could be sent ‘just in case’.
....And so dear heart, when I said no, it never mean’t I didn’t love you. I have always loved you. I cannot die without you knowing that.
The pen trailed off and stood motionless in mid air. A thought came to her, something she had heard that week. It was normally something of poignancy that triggered the writing of her letters.
I heard once,..... love is friendship on fire.
If that is true that would explain the pain I feel.
She looked at the completed letter as she had looked at countless other variations over the years. There was nothing extraordinary about this one. In fact it was quite short compared to some tomes, that had been written. So why this time she folded it and placed it in an envelope she wasn’t sure. All she felt was numb. The emotion was wrung out. She carefully licked the glue on the envelope in a hidden caress and gently folded it down. Out of the drawer of the writing bureau she found the small box containing the stamps. In a fog of emotion she took one and softly placed it in position. She looked at the finished letter. Complete. It made her heart feel heavy and her eyes stung from the tears welling in her eyes. The temples on her head throbbed and she felt the nausea of deep regret overwhelm her.
“oh god.. one lie...and so many hearts breaks....”
All these years and still her heart ached. She brought the letter close to her heart and hugged it, crumpling it’s contents.
“I cannot do this to you...... it is my pain..... I cannot hurt you again”
Resolved she opened the bottom drawer of the bureau and pulled out a neat pile of letters tied in a red ribbon. Slowly she pulled the bow apart. She hesitated and stared at the letter once more. Decision made she placed it on top. Tying the ribbon back into a bow, she then placed the bundle back into the drawer making a mental note to get some more ribbon. The drawer is closed firmly. The past is put away. She shook her hair, patted her face and got up from the chair. It would be another few months before she went through this process again. The words would not be the same, but the pain was everlasting. It was just one lie of the heart. She now understood that in love there can be no lies.