#34

le finale
part 4:

Our final date was at the cemetery. It was my choice but if I had known it was going to be our last, I would have gone for sushi again. We sat at the grave of Emile Laroque because it was a French name, and I knew that it meant “the rock,” and for some reason I thought you were going to propose to me. Instead, you told me it wasn’t working out; you were unhappy. I said “goodbye,” and you left us there, Emile and myself. I patted the dry grass and looked at the picture on the floral wreath resting on the Frenchman’s headstone; oh how his face penetrated the black and white. I thought that if he were still alive, we could surely be together. He, unlike you, would already know French and would probably find my loom charming.