the memory box

Maplewood, to many, seemed like the picture of idyllic bliss; stunning maple trees full of golden leaves, a bubbling brook running thorughout the land, birds singing harmonic symphonies and woodlands full of life. It was full of kindhearted individuals, a closeknit community who loved and cared for each other, where any conflict could be resolved with a simple conversation. To tourists who stumbled upon this hidden treasure grove, it was paradise, but to its people, it was home.
The townspeople had their superstitions of course, all small towns did, and the talk of the town of Maplewood was the small shop that lay on the outskirts of town. It was built from wood felled by nature, with ivy and Himalayan honeysuckle climbing its walls, moss claiming its roof and many birds calling its beams home. It was stunning, and was known for a truly powerful kind of magic, the kind of magic that could preserve memory for eternity in ornate boxes made of mahogany and birch.

It was run by the mysterious elderly shopkeeper known to all as Mr Emerson, the kindly man who brought vegetables and fruits he'd grown or foraged to those who needed it. If there was a pie in need of berries or a soup in need of radishes, he'd be there in two ticks with a warm smile and a hearty laugh.

Lily knew this, she'd seen him many a time when her mother was in need of some carrots for her town-famous carrot cake, though after she'd moved into her own small cottage in town, she'd found herself thinking more about the gentleman and the shop he ran. She knew many people who had visited him over the years, coming back with those ornate boxes full of a memory they treasured, and she couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to visit that beautiful shop in the woods and experience that magic for herself.

So one day, she made the slow walk down the stone path to the woods, just listening to the birds sing their melodies, to the river adding its percussion and sibilance, to the world in all its tranquility. Her boots made soft taps in a matching rhythm, and before she knew it, she was stood in front of the beautiful building. The faded yet delicately decorated sign read "Emerson's Memory Haven", and as she took in a breath to steel herself, she took in the comforting scent of the forest, before stepping inside.

The shop was calm and quiet, yet had a cosy kind of warmth to it that was immediately inviting. The walls were lined with boxes, each unique in its beauty, and as she found herself enthralled by all their differences, a shuffle-step interrupted her thoughts.

"Ah, young miss Lily! I see it's finally your turn for a box, is it?" The man's rough voice like woodsmoke, warm and comforting with a hint of nostalgia that you can't quite place. Lily turned on her heel to face the man and nodded.

"I suppose it is, Mr Emerson. Are these the boxes, then?" She reached out to one that called to her more than the rest, decorated with fern and ivy, with the clasp made of a metal leaf.

"Yes, they are. Each is enchanted to hold a memory of your choice, allowing it to live forever. I see you've found yours. Each box calls to a different owner, and it seems you have your mind made about which memory you'd like to store for safekeeping."

Lily had thought long and hard about that particular choice, and she had made up her mind. With some loose notes and some mint tea that tasted incredible, she left with a small, ornate box to call her own. Some of the others in the town gave her small congratulations as she walked home, but that wasn't her focus. As soon as she was situated on the comfortable sofa in her living room, she opened the box with delicate anticipation.

The air was crisp with the autumn wind, a slight but comforting bite in the air as the cold was starting to set in, and Lily found herself in the most unexpected of places - her own memory, stored safe and sound within her box. It was the day that she and her childhood best friend Emily had built their own special hideout in the woods as children, and as she looked around, everything was as it was then. The large branches were just as strong as she remembered, the moss and leaves just as protective and warm. The golden leaves had the same perfect crunch and her woolen gloves kept her hands just as toasty as she'd always remembered.

As she took a step out of the large hideout, she saw herself face to face with her old friend. Emily was just as pretty as she remembered, just as carefree and just as upbeat. Her once-tidy hair was full of twigs and stray ferns, with the plaits now completely undone. It was all so beautiful, and all so calm in the way only childhood could be, before the expectations of the world hit them both and Emily had moved away towards the alure of the big city. It had been years since the two had seen each other, and in that moment, Lily was going to take the chance to relive those days.

When Lily finally left the memory as the sun went down, with laughter in her lungs and twigs in her hair, she thought to the nostalgia the magic had given her, and what she could possibly do to repay Mr Emerson for such a gift. He was always providing the town with good food, so perhaps she could bring him a fresh pie the next time she was making them.