Mary's Hope

It was a long walk to where they’d kill my baby and I was running late. What happened if I took too long, would they say 'sorry, we’ll have to kill your baby next week' ? That was Monday. I didn’t kill anyone, I couldn’t after all. So now I’m drinking water in the bar where I like the cosmopolitans. I’m Mary by the way. Named directly after the Virgin my mother has always said. Hilarious. I’m no virgin Mary and this is no immaculate conception. I’m loose. I sleep around. I have no idea who impregnated me, no idea how to determine who it could be – let alone find the person ever again – and I’m having a baby I didn’t want just because it felt wrong when I got to the clinic. I don’t mean morally. I mean it just didn’t feel right. You see, when I’d walked around for a bit once I knew I was pregnant, once I’d gone to bed knowing I was pregnant, well…a warmth had spread through me and stayed there. A knowingness. A bit of..hope.

…

It was a day like cotton when I met you; the air was soft against my skin and breathable. I was nudging gravel with my foot and frowning into the sky. You wanted to sit down and my position in the middle of the bench was a hindrance. 'Sorry' was my first word to you as I shuffled my bottom over to make space. A comforting smell of cleanliness reached me when you sat, and I automatically smiled at you for it, for reminding me what comfort smelled like.

Peter was reading what I wrote as I wrote it.

‘I thought you smiled because you fancied me. It was that ‘encouraging’ kind of smile’ he said, flicking ash into the cracked saucer. I gave another smile now, a wry one.

‘It worked into the same thing’ I said. Peter frowned, not fully getting what I meant, then stretched out and flicked through the channels again. It was Wednesday and I would be leaving for my writing group in five minutes so I screwed the cap back on my pen and shoved it with the notepad into my bag. ‘Love you.’ I kissed his cheek and stood up. Peter’s stubble stretched as he peered up at me, squinting; the late evening sun was shining directly onto his face through the window.

‘I’ll make some pasta for us for when you get back. Have fun’ he said.

The warmth felt good on my arms as I walked towards the library so I kept my jacket slung over my arm. It was unusually warm for April. Men were playing tennis in the park over the road and I watched them as I walked.

As I reached the library I remembered we had no pasta. Toast will do – no pasta. I switched my phone to silent after pressing send and made my way to join the group.

Sometimes the smallest things change everything. A cold night can frost up your car windows and make you late for work. The mistaken cutting of a cable can cause the power cut that ruins a dinner party. Faulty lights can lead you to mistakenly walk out into the path of a speeding car when you’re on your way to the corner shop to buy pasta.

I’ve been seeking, aching, pining, grieving. I’m Mary by the way. Named directly after the Virgin my mother has always said. Hilarious. I’m no virgin Mary and this is no immaculate conception. I’m loose. I sleep around.