To my Dearest Friend

wishing, wondering and realizations

Yves montague

Laughing, such a strange phenomenon, and the only purpose is to let the other person know you are also happy. We humans are extremely pathetic, the need for constant confirmation. I'm still playing tag with Frances and Eleanor, I am thoroughly enjoying this trip to simpler times. But alas everything must come to and end when my mothere calls my name.

I approach her. I suddenly stop in my tracks, my whole body tells me not to take any step further. One of the people I will hate forever is standing next to her. I haven't seen that cursed women since leaving for university, my deepest and most precious wish was that I would have never have to see her again.

I have denied her existence to myself all these years. She has aged, making me feel disgusted by myself and everything else. It makes me naseaus to think of everything and the gaping nothingness she left me with. Still the only thing my head can think is: The next time in Venice. I am quite sure my face cannot hide the horror of the memories in my eyes and then, she dares to smile.

'Yves, What a pleasant surprise to see you again.' She says with the same loud voice I have worked to forget all those years ago. It feels like my throat is flooding with the tears that I will never permit to leave my eyes ever again. I cut off all the feelings I am currently feeling and have ever felt.  I take a deep breath and search for the voice I always use for elders.

'Indeed it is Lady Craven.' I say, trying to mimick respect. 'O my dear Yves, you can stil call me Emma, we know eachother too well for formalities.' My heart is mimicking the sound of wheels of a train on the tracks and my eyes cannot look her in the eyes. I can only look slightly down, don't speak to her in a bad manner, remember the rules, do not talk when not asked to speak and most importantly never talk about this.

'She will also be staying for dinner Yves. It was unexpected wasn't it Emma, otherwise we would have informed you already.' I look at my mother and nod. I manage to speak without a lump in my throat 'What a delight....' I want to say her name but my lips will not allow me. I never thought about her, well, I did, but not like this. To me it was as if she died. I wish she did. But my mind does not allow me to be that cruel. I smile and turn around.

I walk past Frances, completely ignoring her as she tags me. 'Are you alright?'she asks. She's out of breath, the tears in my eyes seem frozen. I smile and walk into the rose-garden.

Eloise Montague

'He changed, he's such a beautiful young man.' Emma says. I nod. She looks at him as he sits down in the rosegarden. He seems distraught, I would like to ask what's wrong but will I ever get a truthful answer from my darling? I highly doubt it.

She doesn't stop talking, this women could chew my ear off. 'He's elegant, he seems smart, he always was. He always has been eager to learn. He is taking after his father. He really resembles him closely Eloise.' I smile the same smile as Yves can smile sometimes. I shake my head. 'Why not?' she asks. Probably curious if I have enough nerve to insult my hussband. I will, but I will not give her the satisfaction of it.

I take a deep breath and start to talk 'He looks a lot less hardened, Mathieu is a face of conformity in every way possible Yves has always had a spark of sorts, his very own spark, his own way. He has never been the normal one and I must agree lately he has regretfully been looking more and more.... not hardened, but resigned.' I chuckle 'And still he is as graceful and unique as ever.' she smirks, a mean degrading smile. I am not sure to whom exactely.

'And still, I am telling you Eloise. The day will come, you know it will and than he shall also lose his endless hope, his spirit will eventually be crushed just like they did with our mathieu. So  sister, we shall see now long our lovely pampered prince-like will child will keep it up.' She offers me a cigarette. I accept it, not graciously, with a swift and hard gesture.

'Sometimes I regret mot conforming the first time I could. Perhaps my life would be better. I missed so much of his childhood just to eventually give up on my dream.' I say with deep regret embedded in my voice. I smile but deep down I would like to cry.

'I had fun teaching Yves the things he knows now.' She answers, trying to make sure I know she cared for him. she continues 'His childhood was rather good, I promise you.' I nod and smile while taking a deep breath of this tabacco flavoured fire. I know deep inside I am afraid of the answer why my child was afraid to look into the eyes or his aunt, the eyes of his second mother.

Cyril Courtenay

I look at the window, not through it, it's strange how much imperfection something that looks perfect at first glance has. I can't find any rest in my body. Yves will be arriving tomorrow, tomorrow I must face my failure, my fear, the one I shattered. I sigh, is it selfish that I do not want to see all the destruction I caused.

Émile appears behind me, softly breathing in my neck. He caresses my fair hair. 'Come back to bed, it is in too late to worry.' He whispers softly, so beautifully.

I close my eyes and even his voice resembles Yves, the way he gently rocks me from side to side, the way his elegance transfers to his every move, even the way he smells resembles my Yves. Or perhaps it is simply the illusion I created for myself, to keep my heart content. I curl my mouth into a bitter smile, 'I will come back to bed' I respond. 'Good.' He answers shortly.

The ceiling is awfully blank, too blank. my thoughts write themselves onto the beige colour. I hate every word of it, I do not want to feel them and I do not want them to materialise. I envy Émile who is just sleeping as if there's nothing. Perhaps he is right and there is nothing to worry about but my mind is just torturing me with this immense guilt that just comes over me in waves, like poseidon has sentences me to slowly corrode like awfully damaged cliffs of Dover back home. I still feel as if the whole world is slowly being eaten by a darkness, or at least my world. My damned  world.

I close my eyes and than I feel Émile softly grabbing my hand. 'the world will be alright, and we will too' he whispers and puts his forehead on my hand before kissing it. I smile through the shy tears falling down on my pillow. He starts to sing. softly but beautifully.

It takes me a while to recognise but than I realise it's the flower duet. I stand up. Lakmé was the first opera we saw together. He would always sing it, always that beautiful voice, his own fingers caressing the piano and he would look at me expecting me to sing the lower voice and I would not want to. I cannot sing, not even to save my life. I cannot hear that song without thinking of my Yves. I curse myself for still thinking of him as mine.

I put on a coat and I will take a walk and after that....... I will act the way I am supposed to I promise myself. I feel a heavy weight pushing down my heart I am lying to Émile but is it better than telling the trutn? is it better than denying? He is everything any normal, sane person could wish for than why do I ask for my imperfect Yves? My Yves with all his beautiful imperfections?

Perhaps because I am even more imperfect. And Yves knows that, Yves knows every spelling mistake in the book that is me and he loves me nonetheless, he could read me everyday and not care about any of the letters that are wrong.

But here I am lying to myself, everytime I feel incandescently happy I think it will last forever but I should know what happens after. I fall in this deep dark hole and my Yves was ready to jump into it along with me for the simple reason of helping me. I used him, I am using everybody in my life. Did I ever have pure intentions in my life?

I should leave everything behind and live somewhere in a forest where I am not able to destroy anybody else's life. I smile, perhaps I should have left Yves alone all those years ago, perhaps he would be happy now. Perhaps silence was what he really needed.