It was another one of those nights. Thoughts raced through my head and I just couldn’t fall asleep. I tried […]
It was another one of those nights. Thoughts raced through my head and I just couldn’t fall asleep. I tried counting sheep but the thoughts kept interfering. It seemed the night would never end. Only when my clock sounded the alarm and woke me, I realized – it had ended …
As I had done every day for the last year, I got up, took a shower, got dressed and went downstairs to start my day as Ms Baum's private nurse. I prepared her breakfast, gave her her medication and changed her bed sheets – these tasks made up my daily routine. I’m not a qualified nurse but managed to get the job – which also included the household maintenance – thanks to years of experience as a hospital volunteer. I despised it. Every morning I woke up promising myself that today I would quit. For some reason, I never did. I actually had no reason to hate my job. In fact, everything appeared to be perfect: I was very well paid, the house was magnificent, and from the window of my room I could see the vast blue sea. I wouldn’t have had that had I stayed in my home town. But, Ms Baum was… how can I put it? She was an ongoing nightmare toherself and the entire universe. She was so bitter, sarcastic and scornful that despite her illness, I couldn’t find it in my heart to pity her. And whilst I knew that witches only existed in fairytales, a few months with Ms Baum made me think otherwise.
There was a knock at the door; it was the postman, David. Hearrived that morning at the usual time and after some small talk, during which I realized nothing noteworthy had happenedsince the day before, I went back inside carrying the mail. As I sorted it into three piles – letters, bills and private mail – I noticed a small package. A quick glance at the address on the wrapping revealed that David had made a mistake. I took the package up to my room so I wouldn’t forget to return it to him the next day.
I was glad when my work was over for the day. I loved the peace and quiet of my solitary hours; a shower, a cup of coffee and a good book are everything I need to restore my spirits at the end of a long day. The weather was perfect and a cool sea breeze was blowing through the window.
I sat down, put my feet up, and opened my book, ready to pick up where I had left off the night before. Then Iremembered the brown package.
Hit by a surge of curiosity, I glanced at it, smiled to myself, and thought, no! It's not mine. I won't open it. I'm giving it back to David tomorrow morning! I tried to distract myself but nothing worked. OK… I'll just see what's inside. And if David asks me why the package has been opened, I'll simply say Iwanted to make sure that he really had made a mistake. Great, I had successfully convinced myself it was OK and excitement began surging through my body. Very slowly and carefully, I started to un-wrap the package. Once it was open, my eyes came to rest on a magnificent crimson-colored leather cover of what seemed to be a very thick book. I hovered between doing what was obviously the wrong thing – untying the lace which delicately bound the book and doing the right thing – putting it back into its wrapping without ever finding out what was encased within the leather binding.
Filled with shame as I realized that my curiosity had gotten the better of me, I started untying the lace. Soon my eyes were on the letter glued to the inside cover. The faded color of thepaper hinted that the letter had been written many years before it found its way into my hands.
March 1967
Jane, my love,
I am writing to you, overwhelmed with feelings of weakness, loss and deep grief for having made the wrong choices. I have been reprimanding myself since I last saw you yesterday. I heard you tell my mother that you wanted to see me. I also heard my mother tell you I wasn't there. She lied. I had asked her to. I just couldn't bear to see you; I knew I would shatter into small pieces if I did. Your phone calls, the messages you left, they didn’t make it any easier. I chose to flee. I chose to give up. I chose to let go – not of our love, but of my own being.
I'm sorry, my love. I'm hurting. I'm dead! My heart stopped beating yesterday when you stood outside my window for the last time.
Please, don't hate me.
I cannot bear the thought that you didn't know what was coming and that you trusted me so completely.
You are probably asking yourself how I could just get up and leave everything after all we had shared. How could I forget everything we said to each other, all the promises we made, all the words of love? You are probably thinking that it was all just a lie.
Let me answer and say that I had to do it this way. I knew that if I had stayed another minute, I never would have been able to do what I had to do. I wouldn't have been able to leave.
Forgive me, my love, for my wrongful choices. Forgive me, my love, for my weaknesses. Forgive me for betraying you. Please forgive me, my love, because I will never be able to forgive myself.
I realize that I had to close my heart to you when I left but please, never doubt how much I love you.
I know that true love comes just once in a lifetime. When I gave you up – when I gave up on our love – I knew that I would never love again.
I am yours forever.
Sealed with a kiss,
Cricket
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