Narrative on Divorce

Some Assembly Required

She stared hard at the package by the Christmas tree.  Pia and she were supposed to build it together. Her stare tightened into a glare…they were suppose to build EVERYTHING together.  Sanya stood up and grabbed a kitchen knife. She sliced into the tape trapping the contents of the box. Once opened, out spilled hundreds of little plastic pieces and parts. She dug through until she found a small bag of screws and the instruction manual.  The manual was a ton of pictures and no written directions.  Sanya’s chest tightened; this was Pia’s job, he put things together. Lately, he’d been tearing them down.

Sanya made a plan. She laid the parts out alphabetically, so she could easily navigate through the mess. She took mental notes:  Step one, I’ll need a plan.  The first directions: attach pieces F and E to part C. 20 minutes later parts F, E and C were connected. Three down 182 to go. Step 2, patience. This will be hard.

Piece by piece the parts started to come together and assemble a kitchen.  Parts A and xx were not snapping. Why weren't they snapping! Sanya pushed, pulled and pried, but they wouldn't connect. No matter how hard she tried.  The tears flooded and her body quaked.

“You were supposed to always WANT me! Only me!” maybe if she screamed it loud enough God would hear and regret ever letting Sanya and Pia meet.  “Please connect, please”. Sanya was sobbing now, begging on her knees for the damn toy to assemble properly.  

She took deep breathes, rolled her shoulders back and picked up the next piece. I can do this, I’ve got to.  She was more than determined she was committed. Some people finish what they start. She thought to herself.
......

Pia walked up to the door; surely Sanya would be fast asleep. He had lost all track of time with his “late work”.   He turned the knob…locked. Sanya never locks the door.  As Pia put the key in the lock he had no idea it would be his last time calling this place home.  He dropped the keys on the dish next to the door.  Kicked his shoes off into the dark, Sanya would find them in the morning like she always had.  Rounding the corner into the front room he felt the heat of the fireplace.

Sanya sat, glass of wine in hand, reading a book. Pia noticed the kitchen he had planned to build for the children sat under the tree, fully assembled.  

“Is everything Ok babe?” Although the fire was roaring there was a fierce chill in the air.

“Everything will be Ok” Sanya replied, pulling the glass of wine to her lips as she chuckled softly at her book.

Something caught Pia’s eye…the wood he had placed next the fire had not been touched. What had Sanya used to start the fire? Then he noticed the empty picture frames hanging on the walls. Where had their wedding photos gone? Their marriage certificate Sanya had beautifully framed? His stomach churned.

“Sanya? Can we talk?” She knows, but how could she? Pia had been so careful to hide his affair.

“No, Pia. No we cannot talk.” She stood up. Pia shuddered. Sanya was smiling, a beautiful relaxed smile. The “blanket” draped across her lap was no blanket, it was a dress. The same white dress she had worn the day he promised his life, love and whole self to her and her only.  She seemed to glide across the room stopping just in front of the fire place.

“Sanya, what are you doing? That’s your wedding dress”.  There was desperation in Pia’s pitiful, caught and trapped voice.  He watched helplessly as she bent over and gently laid the dress over the flames.

“I can do just fine without you. Your suitcase is in the hall, pack what you need and then leave. The longer you linger, the better your chances of you ending up like my dress.”
….

Sanya held her breath until she heard Pia’s car leave the garage.  She wanted to cry, she felt like crying but the strength building up inside her was getting stronger than her need to sob. Sanya picked up her old Polaroid camera and snapped a picture of the kitchen she’d assembled. Tonight marks the first of many times she would be doing things on her own. She taped the picture on the empty picture frame that once held a wedding photo.

As she sat back down with her book and wine she smiled at the photo hanging on the wall. Step three, I will be OK.

I read this some time ago but hadn't a real chance to sit down and respond. This is such a great piece. I know this has personal meaning to you, and I can feel the emotion within it, thanks for sharing <3