Martigues

4

4

            October 6, 2010, I was fifteen years old and I was engaged.  That night of my party, in the ageless botanical garden, Fiona proposed to me with a golden promise.  She made me feel like I was the only important thing in her life.  And maybe I was, but it’d be arrogant of me to assume that.  It was morning, and the sun had just risen, but more slowly than it had taken us to do so.  After the party, we took it as our duty to flaunt our happiness.  Now, we were never about that type of stuff, but when I asked Fiona, she simply said that we’d be better off flaunting it while it lasts than wishing we had when we get older.  I agreed.  So we took it upon ourselves to do so; in restaurants she’d display my hand to the waiters or waitresses (and we’d get a free dessert), when picking me up from school, she’d yell for the kids to clear way for “her fiancée to get through”, and at public places, she’d always address me as her “fiancée” instead of using my name.  But when we were at home, we were nothing more than friends for the sake of our families.  It was more saddening than joyful, and Fiona could tell that that was how I felt.  So she called me by my name, stopped picking me up from school, and walked dejectedly beside me at the shops.  It was normal.  October 31, 2010, and we were at a party with all of our friends and even people who weren’t yet our friends or enemies.  She and I parted was quickly after arriving together, and by the way we were around each other, no one would have guessed we were a couple (let alone engaged).  It was okay at first, only 11 P.M. when we arrived, and I was only slightly buzzed half past.  Fiona went out of my sight, and I stopped caring when a not-so-fit bloke handed me a drink.  Everything was okay, and I was somewhat content there in the arms of a stranger, sipping a drink I didn’t want, talking to people I didn’t care about.  I remember glancing at the clock on the far left wall and looking twice.  It read 3:27 A.M., and everyone was still there, nothing had changed but the time, and Fiona hadn’t come back yet.  I recall lugging the half passed out man’s arm from around my shoulder off me and staggering about the house.  When I couldn’t find her, I began to cry half drunken and half sullen tears.  I asked around, all the same question, “Have you seen Fiona?”  And when I would get a “Who?” as a response, I’d pull out my mobile and show a picture, only to get a shaken head in response.  I remember looking everywhere around the perimeter of the house.  Finally, defeated, at 4:38 A.M., I let Fiona’s brother Kael take me home.  All of what happened that night was a blur when I woke in the morning.  All I could faintly remember was screaming, crying, and drinking.