Secret Garden

Sandra Dee and I often go sailing in the sun, and we would often share secrets, deepest darkest ones. But of late, I cannot come, for it has been stormy, so very stormy, and Sandra Dee and I have to wrap ourselves tightly around those secrets we never dared share, with anyone.

It is our secrets that pull us apart, she often told me. I never knew what she meant until I started collating my own set of secrets. I used to love secrets, she hated them. Not that she often wanted to be transparent to all, and shared every part of her to every one, she often lectured me about only sharing with the ones that will appreciate, but she often warned me, that a secret is often the stake that punctures a relationship. I guess it was my secrets, kept from her, that she hated. So she often dug, and she dug deep.

I don't think it is the secret that is the stake, but the inability, or the desire not to share it. It was that fateful Sunday, when I suddenly acquired a deep desire to maintain my perfection that I know her eyes see and I began fiercely protecting my reputation. Vanity I guess it was. Vanity rather than pride. And I began to bury my sins deep down, further than she could ever dig, and we enjoyed our time in the sun, while she shared her all, and I, I shared all that strengthened my reputation of being quite perfect.

The only problem is, with secrets, the ugly ones, they grow. Funny that, must be a rule of nature or something, because mine grew wings, and ugly fangs, and the more I kept them, the stronger its will became, to shoot up from that deep dark chest and show its ugly face. Yes, I have began to deplore, hate my dirty ugly secrets, and the worse part is, I have come to love Sandra Dee who only loves me, for what she could see. And so I often prayed it became stormy, and we went sailing, less and less.

She was right, secrets pull us apart. And my efforts in keeping secret after secret, has caused her to fade to the background behind them secrets I now protect with all my strength.  So every Sunday, I am left alone, just me and my deep dark secrets, and I grew lonely.

Sandra Dee, her heart so pure, she came up to look for me one stormy Sunday eve. Her fair hand came knocking at the door, and I, I, did not open it. But her pure heart and fair hand, never gave up, she came knocking, and knocking again. And one dark night, when I lost sight to loneliness, I opened my door, and there she saw, me and the dark ugly creature I kept deep inside, from her.

What she did next, I will never forget. She was such an angel, fair and bright. She lay me down, and put me to bed, and sang me a song, so haunting, I shan't forget. And she picked up a knife, and turned her fair face, and struck the looming dark secret, down and watched as its life drains from it. She coaxed me and told me, that it was okay, and that I was perfect, in her eyes, always, forever and a day.

And I am thankful to Sandra Dee, who set me free from my secret that overtook me. And to her, I will always stay, true and pure, forever and a day. The ugly sins, I held within, I killed each time I showed her, and if only I realised, long ago, it was not myself, but it was that, I would never be perfect, without her.

grandfather's clock

Her lower back was propped against the seat of the pew and her knees rested on the knee rest. Her hands were tucked close beside her and her head was bowed down. I moved in to sit in front of her and turned to look at her face. Her eyes were closed, and her lips moved as if she was in fervent prayer. Her nose screwed up occasionally and her eyebrows, animated, occasionally creased together nearly colliding with each other. She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. A sudden wave of emotion, more like, peace came over her and she sat still, bowing her head yet again. 10:10am. 

An hour and a minute. and so it passed. grasp it hold it, one cannot. an hour and a minute so it passed.

I must wake her, we must savour this moment together. I know if we didn't I'd regret it forever. I put the hot milk in her bottle and slipped the cosy over the bottle hoping to keep the milk warm, just until we get there. I put my coffee into my thermos mug and stirred the teaspoon of honey in. I picked her up from her bed and the sleepy little girl lay her head on my shoulders. I put her in the car and then carried the milk and coffee out. I drove out and bowed my head to thank God for dear little Sara. I picked her up and gave her her bottle. She opened her eyes as she sipped the milk slowly, and suckled on the bottle. I sipped my coffee. I sat on the bonnet of my car with her on my lap and we stared out into the endless openness in front of us. I kissed her head and placed my lips on her head as I said a little prayer for her. With one hand she forced me to hold onto the bottle and she let go. She turned towards me a little and wrapped her little hands around my waist and laughed. She turned her face towards the rising sun. We watched as God poured colour into the darkness,and as the sky lightened, bit by bit, as the reflections and shadow lightened and the calm, the peace, the serenity, the beauty burst forth in its fullness before the day broke through, and she had to go back to the restraints that held her in, and so must I. 5:55am. 

An hour and a minute, and so it passed. Grasp it, hold it, one cannot. an hour and a minute, so it passed.

They laughed at the games they played. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. They watched the sunset while singing Coldplay. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. The band played jazz and they made a fool of themselves eating ice cream and swaying to the music across the street. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. They walked and walked and it felt as if the sun would never set, they talked and laughed about the story each of the fluffy clouds tell. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. They drank soup from a cup. An hour and a minute, and so it passed. An hour and a minute, another hour and a minute. The talked about what they could do, an hour and a minute and so it passed. chocolate almonds, an hour and a minute. movies, an hour and a minute. an hour and a minute, another hour another minute. tick-tock, tick tock. on goes the city clock. 12:12pm, 1:11pm, 2:22pm, 3:33pm, 4:44pm..... 

My grandfather's clock was to large for the shelf, So it stood ninety years on the floor; It was taller by half than the old man himself,Though it weighed not a pennyweight more. It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born, And was always his treasure and pride....

And then eternal minutes that break your heart, and you ache every minute you are in it, and yet, the minute never ends. 

But it stopped, short never to go again, when the old man died.

They panicked, he was in great discomfort. Difficulty in breathing. She could tell it was a great difficulty. He gasped and she rang the doctor's office for an oxygen tank. The hospital should've sent you home with one. No they didn't. Well you've got to go down to the hospital and get one. Off they went. Amidst the panic their hands found each others and they held on tight. She fought with all her might to get him down there. He needs oxygen. He NEEDS IT NOW. The doctors gave him one, and sent him home. Just a day ago they broke the news to them. Chemotherapy would give him an extra month. Tomorrow was the first dose of treatment. They went home, with the oxygen tank, and savoured each other's company till the morning came. 4:44am. 

An hour and a minute. and so it passed. grasp it hold it, one cannot. an hour and a minute so it passed.

In watching its pendulum swing to and fro, Many hours had he spent while a boy; And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know, And to share both his grief and his joy.For it struck twenty-four when he entered the door, With a blooming and beautiful bride.

It will come by your way no more, no more. It will come by your way no more, no more. An hour and a minute so it passed. 

But it stopped, short, never to go again, when the old man died.

Timeless joy, wishing it be crystallized. Wrap it in eternity dew, shelve it upon heaven's shelves. So when you go through it's pages, it's albums, of that your scrapbook, may you find. may you find, this hour, this minute. grasp it hold it. Timeless pain, is it ever the same? Is it ever the same? 

We used to laugh a lot because we thought things will never change..la la la. You and I are floating on a tidal wave...hum hum hum. I look in my heart hoping it will never be filled with temporary fragments of gap, empty meaningless gap. Time wasted. 

an hour and a minute. and so it passed. wasted day wasted nights. choose you must. Empty moments, go without. Timeless treasures. Seal them, you must. 
an hour and a minute, and so it passed. grasp it, hold it one cannot. What will you fight for? what will you give it for? Why are you standing there? why are you standing there? 

She was numbed speechless. She watched him grapple and struggle to live, but the pain, the physical just stood in the way. He told her he loved her. Her heart broke another time today. Another time. She watched in horror as the medication and blood soaked his t-shirt. What is that? They watched in horror. The chemo-drugs leaked out the very incision they made in his sides. Unbelievable. She shook her head and picked up the phone to call the ambulance. He held her hand tight. I love you, she said. Love me this hour, this minute, for tomorrow I may be no more. Time of death. 4:44pm. 

An hour and a minute. And so it passed. Grasp it hold it, one cannot. An hour and a minute, did not pass. This hour this minute remained. It remained.

Ninety years without slumbering
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
His life seconds numbering,
Tick, tock, tick, tock
It stopp'd short, Never to go again
When the old man died.

She looked out the window at the clock tower, 4:44pm. And the hour, the minute replayed in her head once again.

But it stopped, short, never to go again, when the old man died. 

She looked out the window at the clock tower, 4:44pm. When oh when, will the clock tick again?

But it stopped, short, never to go again, when the old................man........................ 

She stepped beyond the restraints. And the clock, ticked no more...

Cobwebs of time, imprisons her no more...

But it stopped, short never to go again, when the old man died. 
4:44pm.

4:44pm.

4:44......................................

hello, goodbye, what is your point Mr.darcy?

That is not the point, his voice rings in her ear. That was what he always said. She never got his point, never, but in the beginning, that did not matter. 

They lay, side by side staring at the ceiling and the sinking realisation drills deeper into his rational mind, and her bottomless heart. And as the core, the centre of that hard sharp fact reaches a depth that verifies its hard truth, they both saw that they their worlds are miles apart, and she, began to feel a rising feeling that, despite their hand-holding, and love-making, they each stood alone, on their own side of the world. And the ceiling spun, like the drill that is drilling into the depth of her, hot tears streamed quietly from the corner of her eyes, and her world, the one where she built with happy memories of him and her, crumbled. They may not be, after all. 

"Yet each man kills....." 

That is not the point, his voice rings in her head. That was what he always said. She never got his point, never, but in the beginning, that did not matter. Days have passed since they talked, not about anything worth talking about anyway. What to have for dinner, what they are doing in the weekend, nothing they say to each other really mean anything, make any dents, build up, or break down. I guess maybe that is why they decided, to argue. And then the minute they started arguing, they argued, but at least they felt each other's presence. Of course he always had a point, and she never did, to him, she never did, feelings are not a valid point.  And so we hear him say over and over again. 

"Yet each man kills the thing he loves...." 

That is not the point, his voice rings in her head. That was what he always said. She never got his point, never, but in the beginning, that did not matter. That is not the point, the words rang in her head, over and over and over again. 

What happened Darcy, what happened? Elizabeth had feelings, that is what happened. She lay, on the ground as he stared, angry at her selfish ways, doing only what she felt. He could not understand, the realities of her that feels because he was a rational thinking man, always managing to exercise self control, always managing to calculate risks, and walk straight. She was always running, jumping, flying, but tears stream down her face as she asks him, is that not why he loved her in the first place? But that was not the point. Not the point. Not the point... 

And in that moment, where her anger, frustration, pain, sadness, and all within her overwhelmed her, surged up from inside and grew to surround her, more and more, for he refused to acknowledge it, ate her, she ran, and jumped and hoped very hard she could fly. 

But she could not. And so there he stood, staring at her as she lay on the ground, five floors below, frowning at her selfish ways, and his hatred welled up from within him. The hatred he had rationalised burst through his rational man, and he shouted, with all his might, curses no one dreamt he could say. And the broom hit the fan. 

"yet each man kills..." Each woman too I say. 

But that was not the point, the point is, she is now dead. 

And all she wanted was to prove, her point. 

Yea, selfish I say. 

On whose part? Mr.Darcy and hers, I guess. Both. 

Hello, you say, goodbye, said I.

.......

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word. The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword!” Oscar Wilde