Aydan Murdoch

The car pulled to a stop. We weren’t really sure if we were supposed to be here. The only thing lighting the near empty parking lot were some scant street lights, but that’s it. There was no one around, much to our dismay. We were supposed to be here hours ago, we were so excited. For me and her it was the whole reason this trip started. Now, thousands of miles from our homes in Oklahoma, we were met with darkness. My dad drove us through the French countryside as the sun went down, heading West. We hit the coast and went South just as night truly hit. I was a wreck.

I had gotten sick back in London, just as we were leaving its cold and drizzling streets. I liked it there. We got out of the car and tried to find out how to get to the coastline and I played navigator, as I had since the trip began and would until it ended. The walk was long, I don’t remember it well. My nose was a bloody mess and my head felt it was filled with mud. But I was still here, against my parents’ better judgment. I was here for her, for us. We had always dreamed of seeing it, the island cathedral. Mont Saint Michel, that’s what it was called. Though my mom and dad could never pronounce it right, “Michael” they always said, from the first night we spent going over TripAdvisor reviews and booking plane tickets in my living room.

“We’re here.” I said to her, not really feeling it.

“We are.” She said back. I think we both knew that it was too late at that time, but we hoped.

“I love you.” We both mimicked each other.

At some point we rounded a corner and there was a bus. We collectively breathed a sigh of relief as I sought her hand, squeezing it. It would have been a five mile walk across the land bridge if it wasn’t there. It was the last bus of the night we were told. It would take us there and come back in fifteen minutes to pick us back up, and the five or so other passengers heading to the island at this time of night. I remember looking out into the water and seeing this huge silhouette out there. It was black. I couldn’t see the beautiful cathedral or the awe inspiring sea walls. None of the huge lights that lit up the island were active, it was too late. We thought they might come back on, someone said at some point that they came back on for an hour at midnight. But they didn’t.

We got on the bus and slowly cruised towards the monolith, that dark wall against the open ocean. I think it was here that I first said

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She said, her voice quiet.

“For missing it, I promised we would see it.” I said back.

She would say it’s not my fault and ask how I was feeling. We would have this exchange many times that night. I would squeeze her hand again. I remember back when I first surprised her. We were at an asian restaurant in Tulsa, a nice place we both liked a lot. At some point Mont Saint Michel came up in conversation, and I couldn’t hold the secret any longer. I had asked my parents if she could come along, and they said yes. I deliberately phrased the question to my dad, who was less frugal with his spending. It was his money though, so I guess he had the right to be. My mom was on vacation visiting my sister in Hawaii, quickly remembering why we don’t visit her very often. Eventually she agreed too. So in that restaurant I made a girl’s dream come true, she would be going to Europe, she would see Mont Saint Michel, we would see it together.

The bus came to a stop and we stepped off. I set a timer on my phone, I’ve always been a little paranoid about the timing of things, especially then. We were greeted with ancient stone buildings lit by newer street lamps that looked old. A narrow cobble road curved upward in a spiral up the island and towards the cathedral at its peak. My mom complained as we got going, she was in a bad mood. It was hard to believe that it was only that morning that her phone got stolen in Paris. That was why we were late. But I couldn’t blame her. I squeezed her hand again, maybe I said I’m sorry, maybe I didn’t and we started walking.

We felt rushed. We ran up the stairs and cobble road passing by many old houses and taverns and buildings and the like. It was dystopian. This place was a hotspot for tourism and these roads were crowded with people every day of the week, but it wasn’t day and there wasn’t much to see. It was a cute place, though a little foreboding. Lots of narrow alleyways veering off from the already narrow road lit only by dull street lights that didn’t do their job very well. We were almost to the top when my timer went off indicating we needed to head back to make the bus. There was this little archway that stood higher up on the road and, as we stopped there, I kissed her. And there I made a promise I intend to keep.

“We’ll be back.” I said to her.

“Really?” She said back.

“Of course love, I promise.” I said.

As we made it back to the bottom, there was no bus there. We missed it. Damn. We all took in the long road back to the shore, and started to walk. It was dark, and cold. The road was lit only by small lights set into the ground, which eventually disappeared as well. She clung to me, afraid of the strange dark. My sickness had only gotten worse as the night went on, and it was so very late. I remember little of that long walk back, only promises and apologies and more promises. That was until, maybe half way through, we saw headlights. The bus. The driver spoke French, reasonably so, and not much english. I guess we didn’t understand the schedule. We could’ve spent another half an hour there had we known. The dark stretched on as the headlights moved past us.

We walked separately from my parents, who stayed a little back. Maybe they knew the melancholy that filled us? I’m not sure. We had looked forward to this for so long, seeing that place. And now we were walking away from it sick, scared, cold. Eventually the bus came back and picked us up, took us back to the parking lot, to the car, to another dark drive through the countryside of France. It was a rough drive and, if my parents recall better than me, I fell asleep during it. Eventually we pulled back into the lot of our home for the night, the most amazing place I have ever had the pleasure of sleeping. But that’s a different story. Before we fell asleep, me still in a fever, I might have made another promise, another apology, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe I failed her, maybe I didn’t. But I won’t again, I promise that.