When We Were Young
28. She was 28 and 4 years of her life had slipped away since Héloïse like pages on a Christmas countdown calendar. She had finished her degree in misery; throwing out the bedsheets that smelled like her, blacklisting songs that reminded her of her smile, and avoiding places they had walked hand in hand.
By the time she had graduated her grandmother’s voice was frail on the other end of the phone and her father hinted that it, “might be time for a visit” whenever they spoke. Marianne did not visit. She came home. She packed up her guitar, her photographs, and her memories, and flew back across the ocean for good. She felt impossibly older and only a very little bit wiser as she watched the American coast fall away below the wings of the plane, but above all Marianne felt the absence of Héloïse.
As she walked the familiar-unfamiliar streets of Paris she found herself scanning the crowd for Héloïse’s honey hair, every time she picked up the newspaper she skimmed the articles for her name in print or in a byline, and when she went to the theater she searched the crowds for Héloïse’s ocean eyes.
Soon Marianne stopped looking for work and moved in with her grandmother. She took on responsibility for her care, the insurance company paid her as a live-in nurse, and she was able to focus on her music. She played for her grandmother every afternoon and her memory and condition improved as she listened to Marianne pull the strings of time with her songs. Her grandmother encouraged her to take the stage again and eventually, Marianne agreed. She developed a bit of a following and became known for her sad, slow remixes of famous love songs. ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody,’ went viral and gigs became easier to book. She wondered if Héloïse knew they were in the same city.
She wasn’t waiting exactly, but her mind constantly drifted to Héloïse and she caught herself staring into space completely enraptured the memories she was reliving in her mind's eye day by day.
“You are unwell.” Her grandmother commented at dinner one night. “Are you sick and not telling me?”
“No,” Marianne said dejectedly, “I am quite well I assure you.”
“Marianne you never smile anymore, you were such a happy child full of songs and laughter. Now all of your songs are sad and you are so quiet. If you are not sick then what is it?”
Marianne pushed the food around on her plate for a moment, but she didn’t want her grandmother to worry so she decided to share what had been weighing on her mind, “I’m afraid I’ve done something rather stupid and that it is too late to fix it.” Her grandmother waited patiently for her to continue. Marianne loved this about her grandmother; she never rushed things, and she never spoke just to fill the air.
“I gave an ultimatum to someone I love and I lost.” Marianne sighed. She put her fork down and pressed her fingers to her forehead, “I was so young and so stupid I can’t understand now how I thought I could live without her then. I can’t understand how I could have given her the choice to leave when I knew she’d be taking my heart with her. I should have told her that we’d do long distance; that I would do whatever it takes to keep her in my life. I was so so stupid Ama and now I’ve lost her.”
Her grandmother set her fork down slowly as well and looked at Marianne choosing her words carefully, “You are still young Mariannette, and as long as the sun continues to rise you will continue to have chances to fix your mistakes. She’s the one you sing for?”
“Yes,” Marianne said through brimming tears.
“Why don’t you tell her how you are feeling? Do you not have her number? Surely with all of this technology, there is a way to find her.”
“I do have her number Ama, it's just that it’s been so long that texting or calling seems inappropriate. I don't know how to reach her across all this space that’s built up between us.”
Marianne wiped an angry tear away. She always cried when she was angry. She hated that about herself. Not that she was angry at her grandmother for asking, but saying it out loud after all this time she found that she was angry at herself for letting the fear of tainting her memories keep her from a chance at true happiness.
“Marianne I am surprised at you. How many times have you asked for performance gigs or mailed out those discs of songs to radio stations and been turned down? Does it stop you from playing? Does it stop you from asking again? No! You have not given up on your music so why would you give up on love? You have the power to decide your future!” Her grandmother reached out and curled her tiny, wrinkled hand around Marianne’s fingers and squeezed tightly, “Go, go back to America if you think that is what it will take. Find her and tell her that you still love her and that you want her back. I will be alright, I will hire someone and your father will help, everything will be just fine. Do not stay here and waste your life away on my account.”
“She’s not in America Ama,” Marianne said quietly. She looked away, ashamed that she had made her grandmother feel like she was holding her back and touched by the display of support. “She’s here in Paris.”
Her grandmother blinked slowly. She opened her mouth to say something and closed it again. Then she stood with some effort and said, “I can think of nothing else to say that you would want to hear, but Marianne let me be very clear on this last point; if you do not fight for love you will regret it for the rest of your life.”
Marianne watched as her grandmother retreated down the hall into her room thinking over everything she had said and wondered if her grandmother had a lost love that she regretted. She didn’t want to regret Héloïse. In fact, they had promised that they wouldn't regret anything so wasn’t she breaking that promise by sitting here and regretting letting her go?
She picked up her phone and opened the old contact. She typed out a short message and sent it before she could overthink. She stood and put her phone in her back pocket then picked up the dinner plates. As she walked toward the kitchen the loud, single tone of an incoming text message echoed through the apartment. She rushed to the counter to place the plates down again and fished the phone back out of her pocket.
The screen unlocked revealing the text message screen. At the top was the contact ID photo, a small circle showing Heloise laughing as she sat on a paddleboard, hair lit by the late-evening sun, sky exploding in a beautiful sunset behind her. Below the image, the contact name, “the ultimate card champion (don't you dare change this Marianne).” Then the message chain, empty but for two bubbles. First her original message: “Pont des Arts 8 pm tomorrow. No more regrets.” Then Heloies’s response: “How about now?”
---
Héloïse waited at the north end of the Pont des Arts pacing back and forth across the mouth of the bridge. She had been waiting for 15 minutes. Marianne had said she would make it there in 10. It made no sense for Marianne to reach out after all of these years and then not show. There must be a mistake. She looked at her phone again, her thumb hovering over the call button, as she warred with herself. Then she heard it. Guitar music floating across the water.
‘The other side,’ Héloïse thought, ‘she’s on the other side of the bridge, you idiot!’ The opening lyrics of the song reached her, waking something that she had buried at the very bottom of her heart:
Everybody loves the things you do
From the way you talk
To the way you move
Everybody here is watching you
'Cause you feel like home
She climbed the steps onto the footpath of the bridge entranced by the yearning sound of Marianne’s Adele rendition and started to run. The many-colored metals of the love-lock bridge glittered before eyes as she raced toward Marianne.
You look like a movie
You sound like a song
My God, this reminds me
Of when we were young
Let me photograph you in this light
In case it is the last time
That we might be exactly like we were
Before we realized
We were sad of getting older
It made us restless
Héloïse burst from the other end of the bridge just as the chorus faded. There was a small crowd standing around someone sitting on the edge of the riverwalk wall. Héloïse was gasping for air and pressed a hand to her chest as she drew closer heart pounding:
I was so scared to face my fears
‘cause nobody told me that you'd be here
And I swear you moved overseas
That's what you said when you left me
You still look like a movie
You still sound like a song
My God, this reminds me
Of when we were young
Marianne had her eyes closed as she put all her emotion into the song. She was wearing a wool coat, buttoned all the way up, with the collar flipped high against the wind. She had grown her hair out and it was twisted into a bun at the back of her head. Finally, she opened her eyes, and just as they had at the bar that first night, they took Héloïse’s breath away. Marianne’s face crumpled with relief and she swayed a little on the wall like the very sight of Héloïse had made her unsteady. She jumped to the end of the song with a short bridge, slowing the beat, singing just to Heloise now:
It's hard to admit that
Everything just takes me back
To when you were there
To when you were there
And a part of me keeps holding on
Just in case it hasn't gone
'Cause I still care
Do you still care?
It was just like a movie
It was just like a song
My God, this reminds me
Of when we were young
Those watching clapped in appreciation, couples held each other a little tighter, and everyone dispersed as Marianne set her guitar down on the wall beside her clearly done playing. Everyone dispersed, that is, except for Héloïse.
She sat down beside Marianne and drew one leg up onto the wall, folding the knee so that she could turn sideways and face Marianne. She looked the same, and also different. Her face was longer and thinner, the last traces of childhood gone. It accentuated her high cheekbones even more and made Héloïse want to reach out and stroke her sharp jaw. There was a row of new piercings along the curve of her left ear and a scar that looked suspiciously like a burn on the back of her left hand.
They sat in silence, listening to the water below for a long time, unsure of where to begin.
“I was on the other side,” Héloïse said, waving a hand back across the bridge.
Marianne followed the motion and let her eyes linger on the lit-up Louvre. "I knew that if I played, you would come." She was quiet for so long after that Héloïse thought she might not continue, but then, still looking across the water she said, “Héloïse I have been so stupid. I have wasted so much time.”
Héloïse’s heart constricted. After all this time to see her again, and see her in pain, it was almost too much to bear, but she was determined to let Marianne say what she needed to say. It had been her that had finally broken their silence after all.
“I texted you because I wanted to ask you for something...”
Unexpected,
“something I don’t deserve...”
You deserve everything my love,
“I don’t know if you’ll be able to give it, but I hope you will..”
“Look at me,” Héloïse said aloud softly, “please,”
Marianne stopped her rambling. For a moment Héloïse thought she might not comply, but she did. Marianne turned so that they were facing one another and looked Héloïse right in the eyes. Héloïse could see roiling emotions within and wanted to kiss them all away leaving only love. ‘Not yet,’ she told herself, ‘wait just a little longer.’
“You are still so beautiful,” She said with a smile, “What is it that you want Marianne?”
Marianne’s lip quivered and she took a shaky breath, “I want a second chance. I know that we were young and life gets messy, but Heloise I loved you so much. I love you still. I sang it to you every chance I had, but I never said it and should have. I should have told you every day how much I loved you and I never should have let you go. I want another shot at this, at us, and I’m hoping that you do too.”
It was a perfect speech; better than most of the ones Héloïse had imagined for her over the years and she smiled in response, tears of happiness in her eyes. She reached out and took Marianne’s hands in hers. “What took you so long?”
Marianne laughed in exasperation, “I might never have come to my senses if my grandmother...” Marianne shook her head.
“Oh no,” Heloise said, “did she pass away?”
“No, no, she’s fine she- well she yelled at me and told me that I was absolutely insane to give up on love. She made my reasons for staying away seems stupid and they were so so stupid Héloïse.” She leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together.
“I’ll have to thank her one day,” Héloïse said, smiling even wider, trying to maintain eye contact despite being only centimeters apart. “Marianne?”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me, darling.”
When Marianne kissed her the rest of the world melted away. It was warm and soft and felt like coming home. Like every kiss in the last 4 years had been a lie and a terrible imitation. Marianne’s fingers slid into her hair pulling her close and Heloise hummed in response. She grabbed onto the lapels of Marianne’s coat to steady herself and leaned against the other woman, her firm body and warmth confirming that this was not another dream.
Breathless Héloïse pulled back, but Marianne chased and she allowed herself to be caught with a smile. They kissed for what felt like an age in the lamplight, but soon kissing was not enough. Heloise dropped a hand to Marianne’s thigh and the other woman froze, “You said you live 10 minutes for here?” She asked, her voice low and needy.
“Yes,” Marianne answered, scooting a little closer, “but with my grandmother.”
Heloise chuckled and started drawing small circles on Marianne’s inner thigh with her thumb, “that’s not gonna work, I want to hear you scream my name tonight.” She watched in the delight as Marianne shivered, “Come on, it’s further, but we’ll go to mine.” She stood and held out a hand for Marianne to take.
Marianne looked up at her like she was a miracle, but she didn’t take Héloïse’s hand yet, “Just like that? Are you sure?” She asked, looking so surprised and so vulnerable sitting there on the wall with her hair mussed, her eyes blown, and her lips kiss-bruised.
“Absolutely,” Heloise answered, leaning forward to pick up Marianne’s hand and pull her to her feet, “I love you too.”