Fragmented Mind

One is led to believe that the defining moment for a woman is the day of her first period. I beg to differ. That rite of passage for me came years later at the age of forty-six.

I thought it odd when my husband Peter nervously broke the silence as we drove home from our weekend escape. It had been very relaxing and I was reliving one of our surprisingly sensuous liaisons in my mind as he spoke. “Sophia, You’re my bestie” I smiled “It’s been great these last twenty-eight years but it’s over between us. It’s about me, my career, and my freedom.” My smile vanished and some incoherent dribble flowed from my trembling lips, causing him to begin yelling, “You just don’t get it; I just don’t want you in my life!”. At that point, I shut down.

Life as I knew it stopped on that country road as I sat in the passenger seat of our red roadster travelling way beyond the speed limit, as were my thoughts. The innocent little girl inside of me was confused, hurt and bleeding. The pain was overwhelming and totally numbing. I felt my consciousness float away and hover above looking down on my listless frame. This wasn’t happening to me; just some tragic figure I was somehow connected to. The recent moments repeated in my mind like a series of flickering picture frames on endless repeat.

Life spun around me for days as other characters seemed to control me. My inner strength managed to keep me grounded, as the spiraling vortex tried to engulf me.

It took seven days to discover why Peter had left. It came in a dream. An express train was at the station and I was standing on the platform puzzled as to why Peter was boarding with a single one-way ticket. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sobbed and waved him off. I glanced to the right of me and noticed a sad younger man waving goodbye to a woman. My eyes cleared enough to see it was James the husband of Kate Ascot. Kate worked with Peter. As the train began to pull away, my eyes returned to the train window where Peter was seated. It wasn’t just my husband now though, Kate had her arms around him in a passionate embrace. The world I knew and loved, faded away into the distance until there was nothing. I woke up startled. A few days later a phone call from James Ascot confirmed what my subconscious had already realized.

For twenty-eight years I had been content to shelter in Peter’s shadow both to allow him to take the lead but also for my own comfort. I’d given him active encouragement and support to chase and achieve his career and dreams, our dreams I thought! He and his shadow had now abruptly disappeared, and the blistering light of the world now struck my lonely pale skin. There was no us, just I.

In my mind, I imagined many times to be a lady beetle on a concrete path. My beautiful red wings and the black spots from the burning light making me exposed and vulnerable. It was going to take time as I needed to rent a place, get a job and find my identity that had gone missing in action. I had to dig deep and start the momentum needed to forge a new life. With a good education behind me and slowly harnessing my anger into a positive kick arse attitude, I knew it was up to me to find myself again. Many mornings I awoke and wished my reality were just a bad dream. Surrounded by packing boxes in a small, brambled sea-side cottage, I endeavored to leave the past behind and embrace the present with my teenage daughter Frankie, and our little kitten Heidi.

Some three years had passed and the normality of life that I craved had returned. I opened up my little black notebook of addresses to write Christmas cards while enjoying an eggnog. This notebook had been given to me by my mother just before she died when I was thirteen. She had written on the front page, “Sophia, the people you add to this book will give you great joys and great sadness, but you must love and be kind to all of them.’’ The pages were filled with my school friends, boyfriends, family, and everyone along the way. It really was a record of my life adventures and love. It went everywhere with me and it was nearly worn out from use and rough travels. The binding had almost worn through and needed to be fixed. It was so very cherished with its memories, and the words written by my mother.

I had never removed anyone from the book to honor my mother’s words. I came across Peter and Kate’s address recorded in the yellowing pages of my little black notebook. “Cross them out!” my thoughts screamed to the pen in my hand. I closed my eyes, breathed in and out and remembered my mother’s words. She said you must love and be kind. How could I to these two soulless names in front of me? I wrote a word against their names as previously done many times before to other names in the book. That word was ‘Survival’. This would become my memory. I had survived. That done, my thoughts returned to my Christmas card writing and whom should I give this funny little Christmas card?

I enjoyed my work as a veterinary nurse but on the weekends, I looked forward to going to the movies with my best friend Helena. As the movie started, I reached into my handbag to pull out my mobile and turn on silent. My notebook fell out and dropped to the floor. The binding split and the pages fell about everywhere. I tried to pick them up but spilt my coffee over them. I managed to grab the pages and the broken binding of my book and tossed the whole soggy mess back into the black hole from where it came.

Once home again, the depth of my misfortune became apparent. “Get over it, Mum” my eighteen-year-old daughter Frankie said. “I just can’t love. This notebook has been with me since I was a little girl. It’s nearly twice as old as you and it has the addresses, phone numbers of all the people and places I have ever known and been.” I held the soggy pages in one hand and the black cover in the other. My hands trembled as I carefully separated the wet pages. “Come on Mum, you can just buy a new book or get your phone and copy the addresses. Not a biggy Mum. I’ll help you.” said Frankie. She was young and just didn’t get it. Tears welled in my eyes and my heart really hurt.

Frankie calmly leant over me, gave me a nudge, and started to gather some of the pages. “Mum, you start dinner and I’ll have a go at this. Let me get some paper towel and I’ll see what I can do. It’s cool. Open that Cab Sav I gave you for your birthday and let’s see what happens.” Frankie upended my handbag onto the kitchen table and out flew even more pages, along with that bloody movie ticket.

Frankie stared at the pages as if it were a giant jigsaw puzzle. All eighty-four pages lay muddled before her but she was calm. I was now settled as I sipped on my glass of wine. She stopped and scanned each word and name with avid interest. “Mum, why have you got the word ‘Exploration’ next to Jack Carpenter? Who the hell is Chris Davidson with the word ‘Trepidation’?”

If I looked at her, she would have second guessed me. I was uneasy about my daughter looking at my words and names like a cat on a hot tin roof and suddenly felt very exposed, almost naked. There were things I didn’t want to have to be explaining to my teenage daughter.

At that moment, her phone rang and interrupted the discussion and my thoughts. The world had stopped as her best friend was having boyfriend issues. Frankie headed to her bedroom and the door closed.

I bundled everything together and moved to my bedroom, wine glass and bottle in hand. Flopping onto the bed my arms opened, and the pages fell like heavy snowflakes everywhere. My mind recalled a thousand memories at once as I studied the words and names Frankie had seen. It had been so long since I had allowed myself to remember, let alone feel. That day on the road when Peter had forced me off, I became hopelessly lost. This little black notebook was the GPS that showed me the way back.

My thoughts homed in on just one word and one name. “Awakening” neatly written against a Professor David Gant. David was a short French man who I’d first met in my final year at University, but avoided him out of shyness. He had a smile that could light up a room and a beard that reminded me of a clipped terrier. His penis as I was soon to discover was rather like a perfectly baked bread stick. It had taken half a lifetime for David to touch base with me again and I was so ready to break some bread.

The moment came after David had returned from a London business trip. We dined out at the quaint Café Le Mer. The spark was still there and the flame was getting hotter as the night progressed. Finally, we were alone together in his hotel suite. By now the champagne had kicked in and we were mellow and relaxed in each other’s company. In the warm shadows from the candlelight, David’s blue eyes were ever so inviting. Under those soft sheets, I was so ready to feel some skin on skin. Woo girl, it had been a long time between drinks. I felt like a swirling olive in his martini. My mind all shaken and stirred. The anticipation was driving me wild. He slid under the covers and undid my satin bra and removed my best pair of lacey undies. My heart raced as he caressed and kissed me from my lips to my breasts, tummy and beyond. His breathing quickened, and my body tingled with his touch. I felt a sultry passion rising that needed satisfying. I gasped with pleasure as he entered me, and felt an explosion from the deepest places within. Hearing the intimacy in our breaths and David softly whispering my name bought me back into the room. I had come a long way from that virginal bride that had no voice. Being with David had made me fall in love with love, and myself all over again.

My mind returned to the present and urged me to select more words and names to remember the adventures of these last years. This notebook with its silent heartbeat carries the echoes of my being. I could see now that it could be easily repaired with some thick thread. It would need to be bound together but with patience and glue, it would be okay.

I leaned across the bedside table and reached for the bottle of red. The wine had such a lovely flavor of black cherry with just a touch of oak. Frankie certainly had chosen well. Pouring another glass, I paused to make a toast. “Here’s cheers to me and my little black notebook!” It was then my eyes were drawn to the gold sticker just above the bottle’s label. It read ‘Scratch to Win’. What the heck I thought as I quickly scratched off the gold sticker with my fingernail to reveal the prize underneath. "Oh! my goodness, my goodness FRANKIE! I’ve just won $20000!"