Martigues

2

2

           Her name was Fiona, and she was the sun. Pupils like gems and irises like stars. I saw the whole galaxy in her. From five A.M. phone calls to train rides at midnight, walking along the beach despite the frost-filled air, I was infatuated. She had a real thing for 20s music, and I knew a song or two she liked, and that's how we worked. I taught her to play piano and she taught me how to love. I showed her my writing and she showed me her heart. I told her my worries and she told me her secrets. I trusted her with my possessions and she trusted me with her life. The first year, everything was blasé. Up until Christmas Eve 2009, almost two years gone by, I saw her in a different light. No glow to her face, no glimmer to the eye, just a pale complexion surrounding the dullness. I remember when she snuck out at night, onto the roof of course, and it was negative 10 degrees, wind blowing and all. Her face was splattered with sadness and her lips chapped from the cold. She looked as emotionless as a dead body - lifeless, I could say. I remember that conversation. The talk down. I asked her what was wrong several times. She never looked my way, but she said that she was a corpse. I didn't understand. Hell, I even thought she was doing drugs again. Maybe just too much whiskey. But she said that she knew she wasn't a corpse, that it was a metaphor, that she felt like shit and that she might as well be one. I asked her why she was on the roof in the middle of the night wearing only a shirt. I remember her crying, saying what did it matter. I told her it mattered to me, that if she froze to death, she really would be a corpse. And that's when I realised that that was her fear - reality. I could scare her by using reality. It worked, too, because within the minute she was in my arms, crying still, but we were able to get back inside. Christmas Day, 2009, she cried for a different reason. She was like an eager child, too determined, and easy to let down. She told me that I lied to her. I didn't understand one bit, because honestly, I had never lied to her. Not once. But then she said that I had lied, in fact, because two weeks ago I had promised it'd be a white Christmas, and so far, it was 11 P.M. Christmas day, and it hadn't snowed. I didn't think that she would take my incorrect weather forecast as a lie, but she did. I learned a hell of a lot about her the week before the New Year. I never understood her tears or her logic, but everyday I got better.

           Backtracking to January 2009, it was the most rugged, unpredictable year of our lives. I was in Year 9, only fourteen. She was in Year 11, her sixteenth birthday in May. I remember one day, it was really sunny for January, she came home (to my house) and dragged me to the backyard. We sat down on the bench drenched in the coldness of the hollow sun, frost chilling the bottom of my thighs, spreading up throughout my body. I asked what the hell we were doing out there, why we couldn't just go back inside and do coursework, like planned. She smiled that beautiful smile of hers. Dimples and all. She said she wanted to just sit out there for a bit because it was sunny. I remember asking her what was the point if the sun didn't warm us inside. She asked me what was the point of happiness if it didn't make her whole inside, if it didn't permeate her skin. I didn't know what was the point, either, and it all made sense.

           February rolled around, the most pointless holiday, Valentines, was up in a week. I remember not knowing what in the world to do. I didn't know how to show my appreciation (and even more so, love) for her. I thought of twenty things at a time. At first, I was thinking simple, maybe she'd just like flowers and chocolates. It sounded worse when I said it aloud. Then, I figured we could go to the cinema, but then I thought of how many people we would see that we knew, and decided against it. I remember after that, I had almost had it, when she came in and saved the day, really. She called me, 7 P.M. on the 13th, and she asked if I would want to go over to her house for the night because her parents were away for the weekend. How could I say no? It was like a dream for her and I, being alone was all we liked, as long as we were with each other. So I took a bus the five miles to her house, a tote slung across my shoulder, jacket wrapped tight and scarf tighter, with a smile on my face as I arrived at her home. I remember seeing her, looking up the three or so inches at her beaming face, glistening eyes, happiness evident. I remember thinking that she was my everything, and at that time, it was all okay with me, being so attached and attracted to a person like never before. It was all I wanted - she, was all I wanted.