Back to the Wooden Bridge
Dear Mary,
I miss you. I know that I say that all the time and it probably doesn’t mean all that much to you at this point, but I miss you so much. I sit there and I wonder, what’s London like? What’s Mary doing right now? I miss you, that’s what I know.
It’s the only question I have answered, I think.
(P.S. No other PSs today. I hope you laugh when you read my letters. It’s making me sick to think you don’t.)
Yours,
Lily Evans
---
Dear Lily,
Of course I miss you. A million times over, of course. London is nothing compared to you and I’m probably writing you a letter whenever you think of me. That’s what I know, too.
We can answer more questions together, all right? Nice and easy.
(P.S. You don’t owe me any PSs.)
(P.P.S. Of course I laugh, dear. You’re funny like no one else).
Yours,
Mary Macdonald
Chapter 32
On Friday morning, Mary received a letter from London. She thought about it all day, pondering her response, ripping over what it taught her, and settled upon simply rereading:
My dearest, Mary,
It’s Julien! I’m sure you can tell because the person who usually sends you letters is probably sitting like five seconds away from you but I need to clarify that this is my identity. How are things with your letters, anyway? Your girl, is she good? I lost that acrobat lad I told you about, if I told you about it. He was old news in a couple of days, tragically. There’s a hairdresser now, and she’s really a lovely woman, I think you’d like her. She shares certain, well, certain interests you could say. It makes us get on really well. There are some lovers I take that I just know are going to be one of the great ones. My hairdresser smiles and I know that I’ll have a picture of her in my flat until I die. We’ll be friends until I die, I guess, even if we don’t shag until I do. Does that make sense? Kinda like me and you, if you think about it. (Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, I never know the rules on what to talk about). You’re hall of fame, that’s all I know.
Is your girl a hairdresser, you know? I want you to find someone, Mary, that makes you feel like you. She sounds like she makes you feel like you, if you both let yourself. Take her to a club, maybe, like I took you. Clubs are good for the soul. Freedom, you know. And dancing, and music. Whatever the meaning of it, I hope there’s an L word in it.
The triplets say hello, of course! Your mother is doing fine, as I can tell because she hates me and takes great joy in telling me so. Don’t worry about us out here. The girls are good, I’m good, and we all love you more than anything.
Yours (though you’re sharing with my hairdresser),
Julien
So a week after the party, a week of not speaking, Mary and Marlene strode to the owlery when the rest of the school was at dinner. She’d done this with Lily once. They’d taken a walk and hadn’t said much and probably brushed hands and exchanged glances. Mary couldn’t remember the details anymore.
Mary and Marlene, so different from Lily, walked side by side and did everything in their power not to fall into silence. They boisterously took to the hallways and laughed as they went, spouting nonsense and shouting nothing at each other. It meant a lot, to be able to not think without hurting. To stop all thought usually took drinking, and drinking meant all of the stupid decisions that followed close behind.
She was gladder then ever when the letter from Julien came, and even more happy to reply. It had been nearly three weeks since his last one, if only days since the triplets had shown signs of life. There was all kinds of trouble for him to get up to back in London. All kinds of things for Mary to worry about horrifically. Not that she worried so much as kicked herself for not being there, really. He didn’t need her protection, but she wished she could be in the city to give it to him anyway.
Marlene didn’t understand, no matter how many times Mary tried to tell her. Not like how Lily understood.
“So who is this lad?” she asked after the third round of questioning.
“My friend Julien. He takes care of the girls when I’m not home,” Mary explained, the patience she’d originally kept already long gone.
“But you shagged him?” With eyebrows Marlene blinked at her repeatedly.
She sighed, “Only once.”
“But he’s not your boyfriend?” she cocked her head to the side.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“And you don’t ever want him to be?”
“I don’t ever want him to be,” Mary sighed.
“Because you want Lily.”
She didn’t say anything to that, and if Marlene noticed she didn’t let on. She had the grace to nudge Mary in one direction without shoving too hard.
They took at least a minute more of puzzled steps before Marlene asked again, “So who is this lad?”
She laughed outwardly now, “I think you really may never know.”
Marlene chuckled and bumped her absentmindedly.
“I didn't ever understand the boys,” she sighed dreamily. Mary swung for a laugh that came out more as a gasping, gulping sound. She wasn’t used to anyone talking about it like that, in tones that raised above a whisper, or tones that sounded out loud at all. Thoughts had been her thing, and murmurs.
“Sorry, Mary,” she nudged her one more time. “I forget, you know.”
“S’alright, I can handle it.” She reached for a cigarette and lit it quickly, placing it between her lips and taking a long drag.
“Sure, I can tell,” Marlene chuckled again.
At least they were at the owlery now, the darkening sky peaking just slightly in front of them. She quickened her pace and left Marlene behind. It was nice to smoke in the owlery, when the haze could drift to the ceiling and out into the sky and finally rise above her head. She smiled, a particularly ugly bird coming to light on a stone right in front of her. Horrible creatures, owls. Horrible yet so very useful.
She hadn’t shown her letter to Marlene, despite incessant nagging. Correspondence between her and Julien was rare enough to be precious and protected.
My dearest Julien (and the only one I know), She wrote to him.
My girl, if she can be called that at all, isn’t too good. We seem to fight most days, and I don’t know why. There are others like us at school. Others like you and me. She doesn’t know how to handle that, I think. It’s easier not to talk about it, but it’s hard for me to do so. I just want to kiss her all the time, really. And I want to hold her hand. Your hairdresser sounds wonderful! I miss people like that, regular people. My school is filled with remarkable students, and I am expected to be among their ranks. I miss people that are hairdressers and waitresses and line cooks. Lily (that’s my “girl”) is the only regular person I know. The only real one. She can’t hide from me, which is an addicting feeling. Hopefully that’ll stick around forever. Well, I’ll think of her forever. She can’t hide from that.
Don’t be coy with me about freedom and all that. Words and that stuff. It doesn’t fly as far over my head as it might seem. She makes me feel like me at the cost of hiding it. Maybe soon she’ll pay me back, let us finally be. I’ll take her to the club then. We’ll do our victory lap.
I’m glad the triplets say hello! I hope they don’t spend too much time worrying about me or thinking about me at all. My mother hates all beautiful young men since my father left, to your credit. You’re beautiful like he was, liberated like he was. If I loved you in the way she loved my dad I would be pregnant already. That’s why she hates you, and probably why the triplets love you so much. For this, I will always worry about you. I love you so much, Julien. I’m grateful forever, hall of fame.
Yours (though you’re sharing with my girl),
Mary Macdonald
“Ajax!” Marlene tittered to the sky and the ugly great gray brute came to light on her shoulder. “Hello old boy,” she joked, putting on a faux posh accent and scratching the owl in the spots he liked.
Mary frowned. Ajax squawked loudly at her.
“He wants you to say hello too!” Marlene informed her seriously.
“I think I’ll pass,” she rolled her eyes, only slightly amused. “What are you sending anyway?”
“A letter for Dorcas about Easter. She’s not sure if she’s coming round mine or not, so she’s sending for her parents to ask.” Marlene smiled when she said that. The letter was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Meadowes. So Dorcas had a mother and a father who cared if she was there for Easter.
In the grand scheme of person, Mary still had very little clues about Dorcas Meadowes. Her parents immigrated to Birmingham from Nigeria six months before she was born. A history felt but never remembered. A witch and a Muggle, a story quickly exchanged while Marlene was not paying attention. She wouldn’t understand, Dorcas told Mary. She didn’t understand some things, even when she tried. That was all Mary knew.
“That’s nice,” she said lightly. An owl pecked at the floor in front of her feet. She scoffed, and then opened her mouth again, “So your parents know about her, then.” Her question was very quiet, always afraid.
“A little, yeah. They know about me I guess. Being a lesbian, I mean,” she smiles softly. Ajax lifts into the sky, cawing loudly and leaving them both behind.
“A lesbian?”
“Sure, not that you have to be something to tell people about what you are. But that’s what I am.” Marlene said it like it was simple.
Mary wondered how long it had taken her to feel like that, or if it came naturally. She looked like the people she thought of as “lesbian,” sometimes. She’d never had a boyfriend, or really wanted a boy. Mary couldn’t say any of the same, so what did that make her? What would she tell people, besides the fact that she dreamt of Lily Evans each night and saw her behind closed eyelids. Could that be an identity? Maybe, even if it wasn’t a good one.
“Do they care?”
“What, about me?”
Mary’s mother would kill her if she knew. She understood that well enough. Ann Macdonald hated all that was different from how it was supposed to be. She detested women without children, women without husbands. She detested men that cried, men that watched their children instead of working. She would’ve burned Julien alive when she could. Mary couldn’t imagine a reality where Ann Macdonald wouldn’t kill her for it.
“Yes.” Her usual owl landed in front of her with finality and looked up at her expectantly, like it knew she had something to say.
“They’re getting used to it, slowly,” Marlene was training her eyes solely on Mary. She made sure not to turn around, taking precautions to examine the floor. “With me, they always sort of knew. My brothers all say the same thing. I was a funny little kid with funny little interests and a funny little way of talking. Isn’t a wonder I’d turn out to be different, right?”
“Right,” Mary shrugged and attached her letter to the claw of the little owl. It picked around for some food, shook its wings in preparation, and took off.
“I mean to say, they love me. Being different isn’t a matter for people that love you.” Or it shouldn’t be, she thought.
The owl took to the sky, flew away. Off to London, that mystical place. She longed for it with all of her heart, try as she might to ignore the pang. Maybe she would go home for Easter. To the people that loved her without any thought of silence. Besides her mother, that is.
“That’s nice then,” she smiled. “Gives me hope.”
“Everything’ll be alright, I think,” Marlene nudged her. Mary toyed with the ring on her finger. She couldn’t remember what Lily had told her. Which side meant taken which one meant open?
“She’ll forgive you soon, you know.” Neither of them knew if that was true, but they felt it.
“I hope,”
“She will.”
Mary left Marlene at the stairs to the dungeon. She was off to find Dorcas and Mary was off to smoke on the bridge. Things were as they were meant to be, until someone else found her. They hadn’t known how soon forgiveness would come.
***
Lily Evans had never been to the wooden footbridge before, or at least not with Mary. She combed through her memory trying to figure out how she had found her there. This spot had previously been secret, reserved utterly for Hogwarts students that were beaten down into the mud and dirt and grime. Remus could find her easily on the wooden footbridge. Sirius too, when he fought with his parents and his brother. Lily had never been about to see this place, previously. It made Mary sad that she could now, or happy. Something horrible must’ve happened to make her appear now. Something horrible and confronting and full of permanent change.
Mary didn’t know why, but they could finally meet each other in the same place.
She sat down without a word, crossing her legs before uncrossing them uneasily. It was cold outside. Lily’s hands must have been cold, Mary thought. She reached out and took one of them and squeezed it gently.
“I missed you,” Lily murmured after a long time that didn’t really feel so long at all. “I missed you all day, yesterday, and the day before.”
“I missed you too,” she agreed softly. Her head fell across the divide, leaning gently upon Lily’s shoulder.
“I talked to Remus,” Lily said. They were still holding hands, holding each other up. “He had a lot to say about you.”
“Well we go way back, eh? We all do,” Mary tried to laugh.
“That’s not what I mean, Mary. He had a lot to say about us. Together.”
“Yes, well, I feel I got the revolving door at the party. Everyone was telling me about what you wanted and what I wanted and what they wanted for us together.”
“How far off were they?” Lily giggled a little, the picture of their friends parading drunkenly nothing if not too funny to handle. They made each other giggle like that, always had.
“Not too far off, for me. It was you I had the questions about.”
“We weren’t speaking then, right?”
“They all told me you wanted me to talk to you, even if you didn’t show it.”
Lily frowned, tight-lipped. She squeezed Mary’s hand tighter. “I probably did. I don’t remember a lot from that night.”
“Oh?”
They looked out over the trees below them and held hands and let mutual understanding pass gently between. Mary wondered if Remus knew now, if that was the great deal he had to say about her. It would be too dangerous to ever ask him what extent of the story he’d been dealt, but maybe one day it would come out in the open. He would smile and tell her he’d put in a good word for her, through all of it. The tortured romance of Lily and Mary, if they would ever admit it, could be cast in a less tortured light.
“All I remember is you.”
Mary looked up. Shaking, just so, she took Lily’s face in her hands and held her as softly as she could muster. With a breath, she kissed her hard, like she meant it and could never take it back and could never have this ever again. Everyone could see them there, on this shelf above this forest.
“I want you, Lily. I want you and no one else and I don’t think that will change for a very long time.”
They were quiet for a long time. Thinking and doing something that maybe could’ve been like praying, too. Silent hope that this would all sort itself out. Longing for their feelings to disappear into the air. A pressing need to kiss the other girl again. In the end, the last won out.
“I want you too,” Lily tilted her head and smiled just so, barely there.
She kissed her again, dangerously hard. Mary touched her neck, her jaw, grabbed for the lapels of her jacket and thought about shoving it off and touching her more, but she settled for breaking the kiss down to its slowest measure. Lily hummed. She knew there was something behind that hum, a held back thought that she would soon receive.
They laid down, backs to the wood, and clutched each other’s hands tightly.
“Marlene’s a lesbian,” Mary blurted, her face hot and red. She felt warm and fuzzy all over at this admitted secret that was not really her own. Or at the secret she’d told Lily. I want you and no one else.
“I know,” she laughed just slightly. “She told me when we saw them in the classroom. That’s what I freaked out, I think. I didn’t know that anyone was a lesbian, really.”
“Me neither,” she broke into giggles. It was funny. They’d been shagging each other for the whole school year and it had never occurred to them that lesbians really did exist.
“I don’t think I’m a lesbian,” Lily sighed. She looked at Mary, her green eyes flashing with pure intelligence. “But I don’t think I’m not a lesbian either.” It took her a great deal of screwed up conversation to say it, the same it would take to lift a car or topple a mountain.
Mary didn’t respond with anything. She thought it was her turn to leave Lily in stony silence, but the silence wasn’t so stony. She just didn’t know what she was yet, or what she was not.
“I want you,” was all she knew how to say.
“So we feel the same?”
“Yeah,” Mary turned on her side. She traced the outline of her nose, her eyelashes, the curve of her brow. She knew, right there somehow, that she would remember that look forever, for the whole rest of her life. Even when she had a husband and kids and was rotting away inside a flat in London she would remember the swell of Lily’s lips and the way they bent when she smiled. “I hope we feel the same.”
Finally, Lily turned sharply to her.
“I can’t break up with James,” she whispered somberly. “Petunia would know. I sent her letters about him and you and she would know immediately why I did it. Everyone would know and I don’t think I can handle that.”
The words fell out in a torrential downpour of emotional inevitability. Some things were too good to be true. Even when they were true they weren’t true for long and once they became clear they couldn’t ever go back. Lily wanted her badly but that wasn’t the whole story. Mary was the same, with her letters to Julien as she pretended to want lads she never actually had.
“That’s alright,” Mary told her honestly. It would come back to bite her later, painful and sharp, but she meant it.
“Thank you,” Lily kissed her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
They leaned on each other for a while before slowly moving to sit up. That was when Lily made her one last declaration, like she’d been saving it up for one last powerful punch. They were walking up to the castle, relishing the last moments when their hands would swing, clasped tight, before they had to drop them.
She laughed then, wistfully, and looked at Mary with eyes as warm as a kiss, “You’re my favorite, besides. You’ll always be my favorite.”
Mary laughed. She would have cried, but she refrained bravely. They missed dinner that night, and missed sending Marlene off to Quidditch practice. They missed it all and ate leftover wizard candy instead, their smiles and laughter flickering by the fire light.