She couldn’t take it any longer. She couldn’t carry it anymore. She had to do it, even if he thought she was stupid for it. She wouldn’t even know. She’d send the message, and that would be it. This was about her; she didn’t want to dwell on it anymore. She poured herself a glass of wine for courage, but in the end, she forgot to drink it because she was so focused on getting the wording right. “Hi Attila, please forgive me, I behaved foolishly, there’s no excuse! I’m very sorry!”
Would Attila still remember what happened thirty years ago? Elvira did.
Elvira’s grandfather didn’t spare any time or energy to teach his granddaughter that everyone has ulterior motives, and most of the time, those motives are bad. She was ten years old when her cassette tape got tangled in the tape recorder at camp. Attila offered to help get it out, even though they weren’t even friends. After a long struggle, the eleven-year-old boy tore the tape. The little girl was very upset because it was her best mix tape so far. Elvira’s grandfather picked her up from camp and urged her not to be so naive. He explained that the boy had torn the tape out of mischief. He convinced the girl to make Attila pay for it. Although anxious, Elvira did it. Her grandfather patted her on the shoulder, pleased, and made her promise to always stay alert.
Elvira hoped the unpleasant feeling she got when she thought of Attila would fade quickly.
Thirty years wasn’t enough for the shame to disappear.
Sometimes, when the memory surfaced, she tried to brush it off by reminding herself that they were just kids. Besides, the boy had probably forgotten about it, since he wasn’t the one feeling guilty. At most, she imagined that the boy had disliked her so much afterward that he hadn’t thought of her since.
But for some reason, it still gnawed at Elvira. Even though it was her grandfather’s foolishness, it was still her problem. This small incident had haunted her. Now at forty, she had reached a point where she no longer wanted to think about Attila or the money she demanded. With that, she could have bought four Mini Milk ice creams at the camp’s canteen. Whatever happens, she’d apologize. If Attila wanted to, he could laugh at her or not even reply—it was his right. What mattered was that Elvira would finally be free.
Two days later, Attila replied: “It’s okay, no problem.”
Elvira had been waiting thirty years for that. She went out to the garden and sat under the walnut tree. She put her feet up on the other chair. She rested with her eyes closed, enjoying the peace. She hadn’t regretted anything else in her life. Well, except for sleeping with that jerk Balázs. That, she regretted. But there was no way to sugarcoat that, no matter how hard she tried.