BLUE MONDAY

Written by Luz Leigh 11 June 2007

      The woman stands at the ironing board, a place where she has spent innumerable hours during her lifetime. In one home the ironing board was always set up on the back porch of the old country home. There she could enjoy the sound of the animals scurrying around in the nearby woods; watch the chickens as they scratched for a stray worm for their dinner. In the small apartment the living room, in front of the television where she could watch an old movie, was the next site for this weekly chore to be performed. When the children were small, she would set the board up in a corner of the playroom so she could keep an eye on the toddlers while doing the ironing. That house contained much more floor space than any house in which she had lived since leaving home as a new bride. Today, the ironing board is in its usual place, next to the cedar chest in her bedroom.

      She irons the third pair of starched jeans and notes that there are more waiting. But, she doesn’t really mind. It is during the times that she runs the hot steam iron over the denim fabric that her mind can wander; doesn’t take a lot of concentration to iron blue jeans. Years of practice has almost made her an expert.

      As a child she had heard her mother and grandmother speak of “blue Mondays”. She had never understood that expression, but maybe the feelings she is experiencing today would qualify for a “blue Monday.” It is Monday and her mood is one of sadness. She doesn’t intend for the tears to start, but as she thinks of what transpired the night before, tears seem to be the logical thing.

      She remembers what she was wearing when the final nail in the coffin of a friendship was hammered in last evening. One of her favorite T-shirts. The white one with the American flag on the front sporting the words, PROUD to be an AMERICAN. Her jeans were a pair that had been worn many times. They are faded and soft; no starch on those jeans. This attire was entirely appropriate for the occasion because this was the way she nearly always dressed when she and the friend were together; very casual.

      Oh, how she wishes the tone of the conversation could have been casual. Words spoken in jest were perceived by the other to be serious. Although she was a joker and spoke lightly many times, the friend was not expecting her to utter the words. Words that he took seriously. Words that upset him. Words that hurt him. Words that, like feathers blown into the wind, could not be retrieved. Try as she might, she could not mend the brokenness of the friendship. Explanations. Apologies. Nothing had worked. So today she begins a new day….a new week….without that friend. The one with whom she had shared grief and happiness. Sadness and joy had been a part of theirs lives, each relying on the other for strength in times of need. They had laughed together over little things as well as important happenings in their lives.

      She turns to hang the pair of freshly starched and ironed jeans in the closet. There on the dresser is a gift from the friend. A gift that brought such happiness to her when it arrived as a Valentine’s Day gift. Today it is a silent reminder of a dead friendship. She promises herself that when the ironing is finished, she must remove from sight the little treasure.

      Other gifts grace her home; more reminders of the past. These, too, she will put out of sight. More tears fall. She knows the gifts can be hidden from sight in drawers, closets or chests, but the memory of them will be buried in her heart. No one except her will ever know the pain that is felt today. She must smile and move on with her life. A valuable lesson was learned through this friendship…one must be very careful to whom one opens her heart and life.

      She has already begun to re-build the wall around her life. The wall this very friend had helped her take down so people could come into her life and bring pleasure. More tears as she thinks of the good times they shared and the knowledge those good times are in the past.

      The ironing is finished; she is just about drained of tears. Now she must look to the future, hoping there will be no more hurt and pain, neither for her friend nor for herself. 

      So, if today was blue Monday, what will tomorrow bring? Happy Tuesday? We can only hope so.