When in London.

chapter 2

Avignon, France. Seven years after the party.

My room was empty. Our room was empty. All that remained was a mark on the wall from the painting I had hung up for 5 years. I was filled with dread, thick dread. What kept me going was pure imagination. Nothing but a dream of what could happen once I got to London.

I had lived in Avignon for seven years now. I had a good job, friends, a boyfriend, and I was almost completely fluent in French. I settled enough, I got used to it but I never actually wanted to be there. Since I first stepped foot in this once foreign place, I was counting down the days until I could finally move to my dream home. London.

I was twenty one and scared like a child. I had never had to face such independence. That makes me sound like I have been wrapped in bubble wrap all my life. I suppose it's kind of the truth though. I'm the youngest of just two, with supportive parents and a protective boyfriend. My older brother Michael isn't too involved anymore but I still feel his protection from central Paris. Where he moved to pursue his love of film. He worked at a local movie theater.

We moved here to care for my great grandmother who was reaching the end of her life. For 5 years we lived for her, helped her with everything together. When she passed at 98, we accepted our broken hearts and continued to live on for her. She was lucky to live as long as she did, her stories of Paris and Avignon from tens of years ago would fill my days. Yet I was left thinking "when will I leave here?" everytime.

We stayed in France after she passed, not only to honor her love for the country but also because we were settled and more than comfortable. My mother and father completely adored the country. They both had really good jobs and bought a beautiful 4 bedroom house by the coast. Michael was content, he wasn't the richest but he didn't need much. Every couple of months I'd get driven to Paris and watch a classic with him in the theater where he worked. That was the only time we'd really bond. Michael wasn't well versed in phones.

I stood there in the empty room and I couldn't help but well up. My family would be so far from me, who would I go to? I reassured myself of the distance and puffed my cheeks to fill myself with enough breath. As I released the air and held my stomach slightly, Jean walked in with a coffee for me and a reassuring look.

That's all though. He put my coffee on the windowsill and then walked out. Leaving me to load most of the boxes into the van as he stayed in the kitchen preparing himself the last meal he'd eat in our apartment.

Jean was one of the first people I met when I moved here. He was a friend of Michael's, they were the same age. Michael took it hard when he started dating me. I think it was because of the protection he felt he had to have on me. Eventually, after he moved to Paris, the snide comments about our relationship stopped and he seemed to accept us as a couple.

Jean was going to move in with Michael. Which is why I was left to load my own boxes into the van. Jean's van had already left with his stuff.

When Jean and I first became friends, because of the language barrier, we spoke without words a lot. We eventually got used to this and looks, sounds, and actions became our way of speaking after 2 years together. Obviously we would speak to each other with words, we were not cavemen, but I learned to understand his mannerisms and sounds more than his words. Therefore, going long distance would be a struggle if we were condensed to text messages and phone calls.