Scattered: Brief Lives

Even the day the letter arrives, she can't make out the postmark. As the months go by the ink will fade even further. She'll never know where the letter was mailed from.

Dear Megan, it begins, and she jumps down to the bottom to see who it's from. Neville. Neville, who'd kissed her good-bye that day, outside the pub, and who'd promised to call later.

But he hadn't called, and the next morning, on the radio, she'd heard the news about a house caving in, a gas leak, they said. Neville's house, where she'd never actually been. She ran straight over to the house and found nothing but rubble and tape, cordoning off the mess from the sidewalk. No one was there, no one at all, all of the police and the other officials long gone. At the station, they told her there was no one inside. No remains found. The house had been empty. Did she have any idea where her boyfriend or his friends might be? If she heard from him, would she let them know?

When she does hear from him, though, a week later, she says nothing, tells no one. Neville. Neville, who has never given her a note or a letter before, so that at first she doesn't even recognize the handwriting as his.

I know that I've caused you worry and I'm sorry. You have to believe me when I tell you that it's the last thing I ever wanted to do. If there had been any way at all for me to talk to you before we had to leave, I would have.

Days turn into weeks and months. Her friends are sympathetic at first, but less so as time goes on. Just move on, they tell her, exasperated. It's bad luck, love, but you've got to let it go. Rather a shady business all around, they say eventually, his house blowing up and him disappearing. You're better off, probably, free of that mess. Better off.

There are so many things I never got a chance to tell you, things I wanted to tell you. I was going to tell you. This has been a bad time for my friends and I, and you were the only bright spot in it. You gave me a reason to feel good about the world again. As a matter of fact, good about it for the first time ever, really.

She goes back to school, goes back to her job. Spends time with her family. Goes out with her friends. Goes out on a date, and then another, and then just quietly refuses all of the further attempts to set her up with this boy or that. She gets her garden ready for winter and plans the next year's planting. Goes back to normal. Normal routine.

I won't be able to come back here again, in all likelihood, ever. I'm so sorry to have to go. I don't want to, but that's the way it has to be.

She keeps the letter in a box in the closet, with pictures of her flowers, birthday cards, notes from her parents, an award won at school. Folded and tucked away, out of sight with the rest of the bits and pieces, keepsakes, the things you save.

I want you to know that I will never forget you. I will always remember the wonderful girl who put a smile on my face when I thought there was nothing left in the world worth smiling about. I hope that when you think of me, if you think of me, you don't hate me too much, and that you smile, too.

With all my love,

Neville

That spring, she plants forget-me-nots and hyacinths, primroses and pansies, and she remembers, just as he asked.