Completely forgetting is impossible
Each day, Peter travels back home from work in London by tube, then hops on a bus before finally arriving at his flat. The journey there and back eats up over an hour of his time. His car sits idle more often than not, as driving through Londons notorious traffic jams in the mornings and evenings is a fools errand the tube is quicker and less stressful.
About two years ago, his marriage unravelled quietly; he and his wife parted ways. His daughter stayed with her mother, she was seventeen then. The split was calm, almost amicable; Peter never liked drama or rows. Hed noticed for some time that his wife had changed, and not for the better. She became irritable over nothing, disappeared for hours, sometimes coming home late, always blaming a night out with the girls.
One evening, Peter asked:
Where are you wandering about so late? Decent wives are home by this hour.
She shot back, Mind your business. Those decent wives are chickens. Im different clever, sociable, home bores me. Youre such a country bumpkin, always were.
He retorted, Why marry a bumpkin then?
She shrugged, Chose the lesser of two evils, and ended the conversation there.
Soon after, she filed for divorce, booted Peter from their flat, and he had to rent somewhere. Hes used to it now, doesnt plan on remarrying yet, though hes keeping an eye out.
On the tube, like everyone else, Peter doesnt waste time hes glued to his phone, scrolling through social feeds, news, jokes, reels. Flicking through, suddenly a familiar face made him stop and scroll back. He stared at the photograph and read the advert:
Folk Healer Mary Herbal Remedies.
Staring back from his phone was his first love. Unrequited, completely hopeless, but unforgettable nonetheless. He remembered Mary from his school days peculiar but beautiful.
He nearly missed his stop in a daze, jumped off the tube and walked home instead of taking the bus, wanting some fresh air. He made it home, shrugged off his jacket, and sat on a small stool in the hallway, lights off, fixated on his phone. He leapt up, scribbled her phone number from the advert, right as his phone battery died.
While his phone charged, he tried to eat dinner but had no appetite. Drifting to the sofa, memories flooded in.
From Year One, Mary stood out. Quiet, modest, long thick plait, her school skirt reached below the knee unlike other girls. Their small town meant everyone knew each other, but hardly anyone knew much about her. Mary lived with her grandparents just outside town by the woods, their house ornate and bright, like something from a fairy tale.
As soon as Peter laid eyes on Mary, he was besotted, childishly but seriously for him. Everything about her was unique. She always wore a headscarf outside, and had a neat little backpack with beautiful embroidery he later realised it was homemade.
Instead of a simple hello, shed always say, Good health to you. Like a character out of an old story. She never shouted or ran about during breaks; always polite and calm.
One day, Mary didnt show up at school. After lessons, Peter and the others walked out past the edge of town to check on her. Rounding the bend, they saw the beautiful house, and a crowd, sombre and quiet.
Theres a group of people there, said lively Vera.
Closer, they saw a funeral. Marys grandmother had passed away. Mary stood in her headscarf, wiping tears, her grandfather beside her, staring blankly. The procession made its way to the churchyard; the kids followed. Afterwards, they were invited in for the wake.
Peter never forgot it his first funeral. Mary returned to school after a day. The years rolled by, classmates blossomed, makeup and fashion a constant contest, but Mary stayed graceful, never painted her face, her cheeks glowed naturally.
Boys soon noticed the girls, and Peter tried his luck with Mary. At first, she didnt react, but toward the end of Year Nine, he finally asked:
Can I walk you home from school?
Mary looked him in the eye, replied softly, Im promised, Peter. Thats our tradition.
Peter was crestfallen, and didnt understand what tradition? Who were they? Later, he learned her grandparents were old believers. Her parents had died long ago; she was raised by grandad and grandma.
Mary was a star pupil; no one questioned it. She wore no jewellery, unlike the rest. Despite gossip and whispers, Mary paid them no mind, held herself with dignity.
She blossomed each year, and by Year Ten was a real beauty elegant, graceful, admired quietly, never bullied or mocked.
After school, classmates scattered. Peter left for London, went to university, heard nothing of Mary except that shed gotten married. He rarely returned for the holidays, summers spent in work teams.
Mary married the boy shed been promised to and moved to another village. Ordinary country life: milking cows, stacking hay, running a household. Had a son. The classmates never saw her again.
So Mary took up herbal medicine, Peter muses on the sofa. Still gorgeous now.
Sleep barely came. The alarm rang, he went in early, but the past clung to him Marys face haunting his mind.
First love lingers forever, stirs the heart. It never leaves you.
A few days passed like a fog. Peter couldnt resist, sent her a message.
Hello, Mary.
Good health to you, came the reply. She hadnt changed at all. Is there something troubling you, or do you need advice?
Mary, its Peter, from school. We shared a desk. Saw your profile online and wrote.
Yes, I remember you, Peter. You were the top student among the boys.
Could I ring you sometime? he asked quietly.
Of course. Ill answer.
After work, he called. They talked, shared updates on life, family, hometown.
I live and work in London, he said honestly. But you tell me about yourself family, is it big? Husband alright? Where are you now?
Im back in my old house, the one by the woods. After my husband died. He was lost in the woods with a bear… Grandads been gone a while now too.
Im sorry, Mary, I didnt know
Its alright. Its been years. Life takes us all sorts of ways. You just called for a chat, or, as someone looking for herbs? Sometimes I help
Just to talk. I dont need herbs, just saw your photo and all those memories flooded in. Miss the old place. My mum died long ago too.
They reminisced about classmates, parted ways. Silence returned. Flat, work, routine. Then, a week later, Peter, restless, phoned again.
Hello, Mary.
Good health to you, Peter are you missing me, or feeling ill?
Missing you, Mary. Please dont get cross can I come visit you? He asked quietly, heart thumping.
Come, she said surprisingly, anytime you wish.
Ive got a week off soon, he said, thrilled.
Good, you know the address. He could sense her smile.
All week he pondered gifts, nervous hed pick wrong. Was she like he remembered, had she changed? At the end of the week, Peter set off for his old hometown, six hours driving, but he loved a good road trip.
The town came into view unexpectedly as he turned off the A-road. Much had changed, new houses everywhere, the old factory still thriving. He drove down the high street, supermarkets and cafés now lined it. He pulled up by the shop.
Wow, I thought our town would be dying like the rest. Its blossomed, he said to himself, looking around.
Were not a town anymore, were a district city now, said a proud silver-haired man passing by. Weve had that status a while, you must not have been back in ages?
I havent, sir, not for years, Peter replied.
Weve got a mayor whos got his heart in the place thats why its thriving now.
Mary greeted Peter in her garden; hed rung as he approached. Soon enough, she saw his car round the bend. Her heart raced, ready to leap out of her chest. No one, not even Marys closest, knew shed quietly loved Peter since schooldays. Shed kept that secret all these years, and if he hadnt come back, shed have taken it to her grave.
It was a joyful reunion. They sat outside for ages. The house by the woods was older, but still welcoming and warm.
Mary, I came here on a mission, he said, she tensed a little, uncertain.
Im listening, what is it? she asked gently.
Ive loved you all my life, dont you feel the same? Peter confessed.
Mary sprang up and threw her arms around his neck.
Oh Peter, Ive loved you since childhood, too.
Peter spent his holiday with Mary. As he left, he promised:
Ill sort things at work, get my job remote, and come back here for good. Im never leaving again. Born here, meant to stay here, he laughed.
