Tag Archives: moving on

1803. Box in the attic

There’s a box I keep in the attic. I don’t know why I keep it. It’s got a few papers in it. I know exactly what they are.

They’re my divorce papers. From Marcia. They’ve been stored in the attic for almost five years. The whole thing came to me as a brutal shock. It was the last thing I was expecting. And then suddenly, one dinner time, Marcia announced the divorce.

I suppose I kept the papers so I’d know what to do next time. If it ever happened again. Like it would. I haven’t dated anyone since the divorce. These things knock the living daylights out of you. Nothing could replace Marcia. I live off the memory. I feed off the memory of those happy days. She’s since remarried. I suspect she met Herbert a good while prior to the divorce announcement.

My sister says I should move on, so this afternoon, when the truck came around collecting the trash I went up to the attic. I grabbed the box with the divorce papers, took it outside and chucked it (with a certain delightful vehemence I might add) onto the truck. It’s gone now. All gone. It was liberating. I felt as if I had let go.

Besides, yesterday I met Melanie.

1132. A white rose

When Noel’s wife, Noeline, died, Noel had Noeline cremated. He took the ashes, buried them in the garden, and planted a beautiful white rose on top.

Each year the rose flowered magnificently. Noel always picked a stem, put it in a vase, and placed it next to Noeline’s photograph on the drinks cabinet in the sitting room.

Then Noel lost his job. The factory where he worked closed. Such are the times.

Noel was offered another job, but it was in another town altogether. He turned it down. How could he leave his rose?