Never Stop
The rest of the semester bleeds away like time only does when you know it is limited, but moments stand out for the rest of their lives brought to life again in an instant by the notes of cherished songs…
March 16th.
Marianne sat on her couch surrounded by other residents of the French House and students from various sections of French 101 and 102 classes. As a part of her TA position she was given free room and board at the French House (which wasn’t really a house, but rather a floor in one of the oldest dormitories on campus that had rooms branching off abnormally large shared living spaces flanking a kitchen like an unfortunate amoeba) in exchange for overseeing some extra credit/cultural activities. There were dinners, book clubs, poetry discussions, board game nights, and movie viewings and each event required the students participating to abide by the general house rule: only French is to be spoken within the walls.
Tonight she was set up on the side set up as a living room with many couches and armchairs arranged in a large U-shape around a tv waiting to begin a scheduled French-language viewing of Mama Mia: Here We Go Again. She had the movie cued up, popcorn had been liberally distributed, and the students had signed themselves in on the professor’s attendance sheet. Still something- or rather someone- was missing.
Marianne stalled my asking, “Who can describe the main character?” Hands hit the air, “no no,” she scolded, “no hands we are not in the classroom, speak freely, but for the sake of practice let us keep it to one sentence at a time.”
One of the students she didn’t recognize began, “She’s a young woman that has blond hair.” Marianne nods in approval. After a brief hesitation, another student adds, “At the start of the movie she will graduated college.” “mm will graduate,” Marianne corrects gently, “again.” The student nods and repeats, “at the start of the movie she will graduate college.” “good” Marriane praises, “next.” She continues to listen, but her gaze drifts away from the students to the door. It remains closed.
A few minutes pass and after they have exhausted the topic of Donna, Marianne asks them to describe the island. Still the door remains closed. Marianne checks her phone. No messages. It is 7:15 and the students are getting restless. With a deep sigh, she reaches for the remote and presses play. The studio music blares over the speakers as she settles back into her seat. Disappointed, she looks down at the empty place on the loveseat beside her, and consoles herself that there must be a good reason for Héloïse’s silent absence. The title credits begin and finally the door in the other living space, which is set up as a dining/study area on the far side of the kitchen, bursts open revealing the blonde.
There are delighted shrieks from the two girls working through a translation with another TA near the do and they go to their knees with exclamations of, “what a scrumptious nugget,” and “how old is she?” and “oh my god the literal cutest dog!”
“In French, please!” the other TA scolds exasperated, pressing his thumb and first finger to the bridge of his nose.
Marianne is on her feet to investigate and finds a thoroughly disgruntled looking Héloïse holding the leash of a truly minuscule Jack Russell Terrier puppy that is wearing an electric purple harness. Her hair is tied up in a bun, or at least it used to be, half of it now flys free in a halo around her head and she is flushed as though she may have been running.
“Héloïse,” Marianne exhales, relieved that no harm had become her, “what on earth are you doing with a dog?”
“She belongs to Alberto, he just got her this week to celebrate his job offer, and she keeps eating EVERYTHING! She cannot be left alone in the house. I was only supposed to watch her until 6 I swear, but he got pulled into a double shift and no one else came home so I- er I just put her in my basket and brought her. I know animals aren’t strictly allowed in the dorms, but she’s just visiting so…please don’t be angry I really wanted to see you.” Héloïse hardly took a breath during the whole explanation and she seemed like she had been rehearsing the speech her whole way over. “Also I’m sorry I’m late,” she added with a sheepish grin.
“It’s alright.” Marianne said with a tender smile, “I’d say it’ll be our secret, but I’m sure it will be spread through the entire foreign language department by tomorrow morning.”
They both laughed nervously looking down at the tiny puppy that was trying to jump its way up into one the kneeling girls’ laps. “Come,” Marianne said, reaching out to take Héloïse’s hand “let’s go sit.”
As Marianne reenters the living room the students erupt into squeals of delight and phone cameras are brought out from every direction. They do their best to ask questions in French, which Marianne slowly and meticulously helps them reconstruct as they take turns petting and holding the pup. Finally, as the general raucous dies down a girl from Marianne’s Tuesday 9 am section asks, “Does she live here too? I believed pets were not permitted, but if they are, I will DEFINITELY be living in the French House next year.”
“No they are not and she does not live here,” Marianne answered, looking over at Héloïse with a smile. She seemed to be spending a lot of time smiling these days. The past three weeks had been amazing and although they only ever sang the word “love” Marianne was sure she was in it. “She is my- eh, my Héloïse.”
“Your Héloïse?” The girl repeated, confused, clearly trying to match the word to some kind of translation rather than recognizing it as a name.
Héloïse herself laughed, her eyes sparkling with mirth as she addressed the girl, “She means girlfriend.” Marianne’s heart burst with joy and pride hearing the word for the first time. “I am Héloïse, her girlfriend.” There was some murmuring at that, but Marianne didn’t care, her Héloïse was her girlfriend, the wattage on her smile would have put the sun to shame.
Heloise lifted the dog onto the loveseat beside her, effectively ending the conversation, and everyone redirected their attention to the TV as the ending notes of “When I Kissed the Teacher” played on screen. Héloïse curled easily into Marianne’s side, lifting up her left arm to drape it around her shoulders, and watched as the puppy circled then plopped down in the crook of her folded knees. Marianne watched her watch the dog and when Héloïse turned to look back at her their noses were practically touching. “I hope I didn’t just out you to all your students,” Héloïse whispered, looking slightly concerned.
“Please,” Marianne said, her tone full of amusement, as she softly rubbed the tips of their noses together in an Eskimo kiss, “I look about as straight as Ashlyn Harris, I just didn’t want to assume.”
Héloïse placed a chaste kiss on the corner of Marianne’s mouth then laid her head on her shoulder and said, “Well, now you know, I am yours.”
“And I am yours,” Marianne answered, squeezing her tight and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
ABBA was the soundtrack to the definning of their relationship.
---
March 27th.
Late at night in Héloïse’s living room she, Marianne, and Sophie are playing slapjack and Marianne is drawing her cards agonizingly slowly. Héloïse’s drink goes ignored as she is drawn in by the flow of the game. Another 10! She jumps forward- no no no! She tries to pull back, but her fingers brush the cards.
“I win! You touched it!” Sophie preens.
“No, no!!” Héloïse protests, this time aloud, throwing her hands in the air although she already knows she was wrong.
“No, you touched it!”
“Try to concentrate.” Marianne teases with a sly grin.
Play resumes, Héloïse tries to concentrate, honestly, but she finds herself watching Marianne again. The other woman has her lips pressed tightly together, corners creased and dimpled with the effort of containing a smile. Her eyes are shining with mirth as she glances up at Héloïse, it must be her turn already. Héloïse flips a card and is rewarded instantly as Marianne’s smile spreads across her face.
Héloïse looks down at the pile just in time. She slaps her hand down, correct this time, and drags the pile to her. She looks at Marianne again, face filled with triumph. “You’re cheating.” Marianne accuses, no malice, all affection.
“I’m not cheating, I play fast.” She laughs as she rearranges her stack then places a new card down and immediately presses Mariane, “play is to you.”
Marianne tilts her head to the side, but plays on, her grin getting impossibly wider. “Two.” Says Sophie, placing two cards, Héloïse was already moving, she had only placed one, “Two cards!” Marianne scolds. “Two,” Héloïse echos as she quickly corrects her mistake. Her card is quickly covered by two of Marianne’s. The other woman slapping her hand down almost instantaneously, “Two sixes!” Marianne shouts.
“Oh! No!” Héloïse laments, “two sixes,” Marianne sings again as Héloïse presses her fingers to her cheeks drawing them down slowly in exasperation. She hates losing.
Play begins again, Héloïse urging the other two to go faster. Leaping forward slightly as each card is placed. Finally, after several tense rotations, her hand slaps the pile claiming another large stack when two consecutive royals are played. Marianne’s smile instantly clamps down in a stoic expression of disbelief and detachment. It only makes Héloïse laugh again.
“Do not be sore,” She chides.
Marianne scrunches her nose and wiggles her head a few times then signs a few bars of Tubthumping:
“I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down”
Sophie laughs and picks it up, “He drinks the whiskey drink, he drinks the Vodka drink, He drinks the Lager drink, he drinks the Cider drink.”
Both women look at Héloïse who rolls her eyes and finishes, “He sings the songs that remind him of the good times, He sings the songs that remind him of the best times.”
All three of them throw their heads back and belt out the chorus another time in unison. They laugh at themselves, totally content. Héloïse locks eyes with Marianne again. She feels the feeling, the one they aren’t naming.
“Again?” Sophie askes.
“I think not,” Héloïse responds, “Marianne and I have some business upstairs”
Chumbawamba was the soundtrack to their first time making love.
---
April 23st.
They are laying in bed together, hair tousled from last night’s lovemaking, music softly spilling from Marianne’s speaker.
It's not the pale moon that excites me
That thrills and delights me
Oh no, it's just the nearness of you
Héloïse has the sheets tucked beneath her arms, totally at ease and Marianne thinks she is the luckiest woman on earth. She lifts the polaroid camera to her eye. Héloïse smiles softly and rolls from her side to her back, opening her arms like butterfly wings so one elbow is resting on the pillow above her, fingers brushing her cheek, and her other hand is tucked gently beneath her head. The pose is vulnerable, trusting, and her face is full of love.
It isn't your sweet conversation
That brings this sensation
Oh no, it's just the nearness of you
Marianne snaps the picture and sets the camera aside on the window sill while the image develops. She leans in and kisses Héloïse tenderly, running her hand down the column of her neck to rest over her heart. “Stop looking at me like that,” the teases.
“Like what?” Héloïse purrs innocently.
When you're in my arms
And I feel you so close to me
All my wildest dreams came true
“Like I’m your everything,” Marianne answers with a tinge of sadness.
“I don’t know how else to look at you,” Héloïse responds, leaning up to kiss Marianne’s collarbone.
Marianne’s face darkened, although Héloïse couldn’t see it, and she turned away. Momentarily hiding her face from Héloïse as she stood, taking her quilt with her, and took several steps across the room. She trailed her fingers gently over the petals of her succulent plant, collecting her thoughts. When she turned back around, she was struck again by Héloïse’s beauty and openness. This conflict had been brewing for weeks though, ever since Marianne had selected her next semester’s courses, and it was time to have it out, “we are running out of time.”
If you will only grant me
The right to hold you ever so tight
And to feel in the night
The nearness of you
Héloïse gave her a long, measured look before sitting up and pulling on an oversized school t-shirt. She stood too and took a few steps, not toward Marianne, but in the opposite direction. Marianne followed her progress across the room with eyes glued to the back of her head trying to read the slightings tilt of her head, the tension in her shoulders. Héloïse half-turned, blinking furiously as she came to an understanding. She grabbed her jeans from the back of Marianne’s desk chair and whipped around suddenly; “it’s terrible,” she said, her voice rolling like a tempest as she pulled on the jeans with stiff, jerky motions, “Now that you possess me a little you bear me a grudge.”
“No,” Marianne protested quietly, careful to keep her voice neutral. It’s not that, not exactly.
“You do,” Héloïse insisted, buttoning the jeans and placing her hands on her hips “you know you do.”
Marianne could think of nothing to say. She waited, ashamed by her own selfishness and how she was allowing it to poison their connection.
“You are not on my side now,” Héloïse accused, with a small motion of her arm at the space between them. “You blame me for what comes next, the role I must play in my father’s business, you don’t support me.”
Marianne shifted her weight between her feet and clutched the quilt tighter around her like armour as she raised her chin in defiance, “you are right.”
Héloïse steps closer and tears begin to glitter in her eyes like shards of broken glass, “Go on, “ she invites, “say what burdens your heart.”
There is a long silence that stretches between them. Red rims Héloïse’s eyes and her nostrils flare. Her jaw begins to quiver. “I thought you braver.”
“I thought you braver too,” Marianne snaps back quickly. There it is, finally, the truth that has been haunting her. Graduation is a crossroads for everyone their age and Marianne knows that on the other side of it Héloïse will be faced with a choice, and she will not choose their love.
“That is it then,” Héloïse’s voice is full of pain, “you imagine me docile, worse!- you imagine me a conspirator!” A single tear falls from her eye. It rolls slowly down her cheek and Marianne’s world constricts to that one droplet. Marianne feels like she is drowning in it. “Well, imagine me happy or unhappy if it reassures you, but do not imagine me guilty.”
Marianne’s heart shatters as she watches her lover cry. She thinks it is miraculous that there is no sound when a heart breaks. It's almost as though the universe could not create a sound for such devastation and silence was the only way it could pay its respects to something so gruesome.
“You’d prefer me to resist?” Héloïse asks, finally, reaching up to wipe the next tear away angrily.
“Yes,” Marianne says with a nod, crumbling in on herself as she braces for the response.
“Are you asking me to?” Héloïse’s tears are falling quickly now, staining her face. Marianne rips her eyes away to look out the window, searching for clarity. Would she prefer it if Héloïse were to resist her fate and stay with her forever? That was an easy yes. But would she ASK Héloïse to abandon from the media empire she had been groomed to take over for her entire life to get it? Would she ASK Héloïse to turn her back on her dying father in his hour of need?
“Answer me,” Héloïse demands firmly baring her teeth.
Marianne inhales sharply and squares herself with Héloïse again. When she speaks, she answers with the strength and conviction of someone who is absolutely certain. “No.”
Héloïse nods twice, short and tight like someone who is double-checking a math calculation and has found the figures to be correct. She turns and sweeps from the room, leaving Marianne alone in her devastation.
Nora Jones was the soundtrack to their hearts breaking.
---
April 29th.
The last karaoke night before graduation, the last karaoke night before Héloïse was going to fly home to Paris, she found herself standing outside the aphrodisiac oyster shack without quite knowing how she got there. She’d cried more tears this week than she’d ever thought one body could hold, but she couldn’t stay away. This was the longest she had been away from Marianne since they had met and a magnetic pull brought her to the bar one last time, back to Marianne.
It was late, 9:45, Marianne’s set would almost be finished. She could hear the music from outside, hear the crowd cheering and singing. She almost lost her nerve. She untucked her shirt, tucked it in again, took a deep steadying breath, then reached for the door handle.
Their eyes met instantly across the room. Marianne must have been staring at the door all night hoping. She missed a note. Héloïse had never heard her miss a note on stage before. She made her way through the crowd, weaving and pushing slightly when necessary until she found herself right at the front of the room with the tips of her Doc Martins pressed against the stage.
The other performer stood as the song ended, bowed slightly in response to the applause, and exited the stage. Marianne came forward and took his place without a word. She settled the guitar in her lap again, tilted the microphone down to her lips, and said two simple, perfect words: “Forgive me.” Then she began to sing:
This is my love song to you
Let every woman know I'm yours
So you can fall asleep each night, babe
And know I'm dreaming of you more
The rock music washed over Héloïse like a cleansing fire. Her whole body seemed to pulse with the chords and conviction in Marianne’s voice as she sang the lyrics out.
And with this love song to you
It's not a momentary phase
You are my life, I don't deserve you
But you love me just the same
You are my life, my love, my only
And that's the one thing that won't change
‘Won’t change- no it would never change. They wanted each other, loved each other, even if they had never said it that much was certain. They were in love, but not all loves are made to last. There are some things that are bigger than individual wants and desires no matter what the movies and poems say.’ Héloïse thought as she watched Marianne perform each word and each note searing itself into her memory like a brand.
I'll never stop trying
I'll never stop watching as you leave
I'll never stop losing my breath
Every time I see you looking back at me
I'll never stop holding your hand
I'll never stop opening your door
I'll never stop choosing you babe
I'll never get used to you
The music fades, the bar is silent as Marianne reaches up and wipes a single tear from the corner of her eye. Everyone seems to be holding their breath. Before Héloïse is fully conscious of her decision to move her right foot is on the stage. She steadies herself with both hands before taking a small hop-step up. She stands directly in front of Marianne, who looks up at her like she is a shooting star embodying the wonder and magic of the cosmos.
“There is nothing to forgive,” Héloïse says. Marianne’s eyes close softly, then she throws her arms around Héloïse’s waist, pressing her face into her stomach, guitar caught between them. “I still have to go,” She adds, not wanting to break the moment, but needing to be clear about what her presence here means.
Marianne nods against her skin, “I know.” She says, “You wouldn’t be the woman I love if you didn’t. Promise me you won’t regret anything, just remember.”
SafetySuit is the soundtrack to their goodbye