As From a Far Place

The tedium of a bright sunny day. Not so hot as to transform physical activity into a sweaty uncomfortable business, not so cold as to turn the inside of a house into a pleasurable refuge from the elements. But that was where John was. He sat at the dining room table and felt depressed to watch light from the late afternoon sun cast shadows across the lawn. It was now even invading his sanctuary producing bright shafts of light where sunbeams danced and a scattered glow from the polished dark wood where his fixed gaze fell. It was as if one could not escape the beauty of the day and this only added to his melancholy mood.

He reflected on the number of afternoons spent in this room, even this very chair and sighed when contemplating how impotent his position had been. This state of mind seemed to produce a temporary paralysis that kept him rooted to the seat. His thoughts may not have been many, but the ever-present feelings of fear and sadness mitigated against boredom encroaching. The fear had increased recently as he had resolved to grasp the future with determination, whilst the sadness over the past and present had receded. He wondered if the courage to fully embrace the planned change would desert at the last moment.

John glanced at the clock and its arms galvanised him from his torpor. Four o’clock meant his wife would be back within the hour. His mind wandered back to the previous evening when they had last been together. Although social occasions were avoided whenever possible, there were some that were unavoidable. He remembered the dread that had started when facing the bathroom mirror to straighten his tie with shaking fingers. A sick feeling was stirring in the pit of his stomach as he prepared for a tortuous evening of humiliation and inane grinning in the face of a string of insulting and embarrassing comments. These would be aimed in his direction by the woman he had once been so proud to have on his arm.

‘Poor old John’ he imagined his colleagues saying as he exited at the earliest opportunity. The worst part of the evening had passed and although there would follow continued unjust accusations, threats and more, he could cope with these. Mutual unpleasantries at least would be confined to two people and the ritual of exchanging them every day for over two years had built up a kind of immunity.

John glanced at the clock again and took a piece of paper out of his pocket. He thought about adding to the letter, which had been in the writing for the last three weeks but then decided against it. ‘Not enough time’ he thought to himself and realised he should stow it away before his wife returned. As every room in the house carried a risk of being caught out, the only secure place of concealment was the glove compartment of his car. He directed steps to this one remaining refuge before resuming his seat at the dining table.

Sometimes it is impossible to determine where thoughts come from. It can seem as if they are energetic quanta floating in the ether waiting for the right frequency to resonate with a receptive mind. This was one of those occasions and a memory that had been kept stowed away securely for decades, so securely he was surprised it resurfaced, suddenly presented itself.

Her name was Angela and she had come to his attention at the age of eleven. She was the gawky girl in the same school year emerging from childhood with skinny legs, flat chest and the budding of emotions never previously experienced. He was not as mature as Angela. The art of dealing with the opposite sex was a complete mystery as were the strange feelings concerning girls that were starting to surface within. It was, therefore, a surprising and unwelcome experience when one of her friends stuffed a handwritten note into his hand.

He read the note with confusion. He liked Angela but had no idea how to respond to the letter, which professed her attraction to him. Even if he could summon up the courage to give the green light to a relationship he had yet to learn the rules of conducting one. Inaction was not an option, however, as Angela’s friend accosted him with ever increasing determination demanding an answer.

To his shame he took the coward’s way out. Not being able to give voice to how he felt, he related the news to his friend Andrew hoping the weight of the secret could be shared between them. Andrew made a show of being knowledgeable in such matters, shaking his head incredulously to John’s inquiries as if being the possessor of some secret knowledge concerning the female sex. In truth he was just as clueless.

Then there was that lunchtime by the tennis courts when notes were passed between himself and Angela via intermediaries. Andrew altered the messages, who knows maybe Angela’s friend did the same. A game of Chinese whispers that had no hope of ending well. John couldn’t remember what he wrote but had a sinking feeling when he saw tears in the little girl's eyes as she ran to the sanctuary of the toilets. The pain of seeing Angela so upset, however, did not linger more than one day. There was the worldly wise Andrew to remind him on the walk home from school that love hurts. He spoke with regret of breaking many a girl’s heart but was reluctant to give details.

High School followed soon after and as John and Angela proceeded through the grades they saw less and less of each other. He was ashamed to admit it as he sat at the dining room table but he probably forgot about her.

It was years later when John bumped into Angela in the supermarket. She was pushing a trolley filled with groceries and had two small children in tow. She may have appeared careworn by life but there was no way one could deny the fact that she had grown more beautiful in the years since their last meeting. No longer skinny legs and the body of a stick insect but desirably curved without acquiring excess fat.

She was attractive but he didn’t allow himself to feel a physical attraction. John looked into the hazel eyes and remembered the kindness that lay behind them. They were not the totally trusting and innocent eyes of the eleven year old girl, but the kindness was still there. They talked about nothing in particular and he was glad of the children to provide a welcome distraction and a quick get-away. He wanted to say something about the note exchanging incident, to try to explain, to apologise but there was no way he could. No way she would have wanted him to do this.

Nine a.m. the following morning John sat in his chair and smoothed out the crumpled paper in preparation for its final revision. The contents had been agonised over for days and even now he was not sure the correct details were being stated. At first the letter was a justification for his intended action, but that all sounded a bit too familiar: like the responses he gave when arguing. Upon further editing the tone became less strident as the realisation dawned that it did not really matter where the burden of blame lay.

Reading through the penultimate draft he mused on the fact that its style was almost poetic. That was OK though: the contrast to the words he normally used might just get through to his wife. It is possible to say in writing what can never be said face to face and the words are always read by the recipient without the possibility of interruption or walkout.

The pen can be a terrifying instrument and, realising he was now writing the final draft and the last words he would ever convey to the woman with whom he had intended to spend the rest of his life, he grasped the cold metal barrel with trepidation.

Your pain reaches me from a far place, its effect deadened by the distance between us. The boat carrying me from that place, floating on the ocean of our unconscious desires, has been drifting aimlessly for some time now but always away from you. I haven’t tried to stop it or change course and at times have even found the gentle bobbing comforting. Your fear comes from such a far place that I now only find it mildly disturbing. I look at my boat but have no desire to pick up the oars and try to return there. Our understanding of each other is distorted by the shimmering haze, rising from the ocean, between where we both are. Your love comes from a place I know I can never visit. Even if I rowed against the current with all my might I could never reach it. I could never reach it as the place no longer exists. Your love comes from no place, but from a time, a time I can only dimly remember and am only able to visit in my dreams.

I am leaving now. Please do not try to find me. You may be able to force me back to the place where I feel pain and fear, but you can never take me back to the time when we loved each other.

John breathed a sigh as he put the pen down and then carefully read through it one more time. He placed it in an envelope on the dining table, rose out of his chair and then went outside to his car and drove away.

In the car he thought of Angela and how he felt after bumping into her in the supermarket. He had wanted to write something to apologise but knew it was inappropriate. There was no way he could impinge in any way on her marriage even if it was to say sorry. He thought about writing how he felt although he knew it would never be read by anyone but himself.

As the car took him further away from his marriage, and a sense of freedom made him feel lighter, he gave serious thought to what he wanted to say. The thought even crossed his mind that he may send her a letter. He would mention something about the innocence of youth, the emotions that are felt keenly by children that swing rapidly between hurt and laughter but always seem magical. He would resist the temptation to blame Andrew for what happened in the lunchtime by the tennis courts and put the blame on himself. He was a fool too immature, too scared to admit feelings of love in front of his friends. Then he thought about the place where love could have first sprouted.

The foundations were shaky and the place was unfamiliar but I have often wanted to return there. I left you on the island, pushing myself away with my own stupidity but often I have wanted to return. I never had the strength to do so and considered myself unworthy to make the journey. I am a long distance from you but frequently desire to return even though I’m not sure of the way and know it could end in disappointment.

But when I think again it wouldn’t be disappointment to see you spending special time with your husband and the children who must now almost be grown up. I would sail away as soon as I caught a glimpse of your happy family life. The joy in my heart would increase as would my distance from you, along with the resolve to never make that journey again.

But there is a chance that you are thinking of me the same way I am thinking of you. There is a chance you need someone to love as much as I do. There is an even smaller chance that we could make something out of a love that never started. I could reach your island and never leave for the rest of my days. I tremble with anticipation when imagining what that would be like.

The feeling of lightness continued as he drove, looking at the green countryside and marvelling at what a beautiful day it was. He wound down the car window to let in the fresh air and breathed deeply until he could feel the coolness reaching his lungs. Would he write the speech he had just formulated on paper and send it? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he was feeling like an eleven year old boy again.