On Our Own

I wonder sometimes if I should tell you; how would you react? Sometimes I dream that the knowledge will suddenly transform you, that knowing how much I love you will make you realize that you do, in fact, love me. Occasionally I even decide that the next time I see you, I won't let you send me away before I make my confession. And then, inevitably, I find you with the other students as usual--only now, instead of joining their talk of revolution, you speak only of her. I don't know how to tell you what I've learned in the days since you first asked me to find her without breaking your heart. You've changed these past couple of weeks; it's not just that you've begun ignoring me more than usual, either. I've been watching you--sometimes so obviously that only your distraction has made it possible for me to do so without your knowledge. Your friend Enjolras caught me once, but promised not to tell. Actually, I've run into him several times recently; he's often out walking at night, as I wander the streets of Paris wondering what to do. I'd give anything to just go to you then, and ask if you would let me stay with you. Nothing more, just give me a place to sleep far from my father and his gang. You don't even have to love me--I think I'd be content for you to protect me, keep me safe. You can't begin to imagine what my life is like....

Do you realize how lucky you are? Your poverty is a choice; if you choose to, you can go to your grandfather at any time and be part of the aristocracy once more. And even if you never return to your old life, the poverty you are living in seems like wealth to me! You never have to seriously wonder if you'll starve to death, or freeze for lack of a roof over your head. You will never be thrown in jail and actually be glad of it, because jail means shelter and some sort of food. Even your heartache is less painful than mine, because the one you long for is a stranger, and not someone you're around day after day. Hopefully, you'll forget her soon because of it. I'd rather not have to tell you what I now know about her; even if the knowledge would cause you not only to forget her, but begin to love me instead, I don't think I could bring myself to cause you that much pain.

I found her, you see. I know where she lives. And if you ask me, I won't lie to you about that. But do I tell you the rest? Do I tell you what she told me one day, as I was hanging around in an attempt to make up my mind whether I should offer to bring you to her or wait until you asked? She was in the garden as usual, and I was peering in through the gates, hidden from her view. Apparently I wasn't so hidden from the road, however, as I soon heard my name being called. It was Enjolras; he crossed the street and came over to me. We must have talked for half an hour, yet he didn't mention Lamarque or revolution once! Instead, we talked of you, and me, and the impossibility of that ever becoming "you and me." Your friend can be extremely nice, you know, when he deigns to think of the here and now, rather than the future he wants to build for millions of strangers. He was quite kind, supportive. He did confirm my suspicions that you are completely blind when it comes to how I feel about you, but he added that he thinks you consider me to be one of your best friends. That helps, knowing that you do care for me in some way, even though it's not the way I'd prefer. And it's an honor, to be thought of on the same level as Enjolras, whom even I can't help but admire. I don't always understand your best friend's talk of politics and revolution, but it is obvious that he is smart, and driven. Yet he cares for you and the other students a great deal; an unusual combination. I wish him better luck than I, should he ever fall in love....

Anyway, after he left me I returned once more to the gates, to your beloved, and found I would no longer be able to spy on her unnoticed. She was at the gates herself, watching as Enjolras continued slowly down the street. Before I could sneak away, she turned toward me and begged me to approach. (What fancy, formal language she uses!) I must admit, I was curious about this woman who could capture you so completely without even speaking, so I did. I was wary, expecting her at any moment to call her father or the police, to take care of the dirty gutter-girl who dared trespass on their property, but she merely asked me who the young man I'd been talking with was. Startled, I told her his name, then fell silent. Why did she want to know? What difference did it make to her? I wondered. And then she unknowingly told me.... The look on her face was far too similar to mine--one of hopeless longing, useless love. I couldn't help asking if she was in love with him; apparently surprised at having been discovered, she admitted that she was. She'd seen him that day when you knocked her down in the street...all the time you've been hoping for another glance of her, she's been pining away for your best friend. She made me promise not to say anything to Enjolras, then begged me to tell her everything I knew about him. I'm afraid I was rather rude in my reply; how could I encourage Cosette (I learned her name that day, too, you see) to love another, when you care for her so much?

So what do I do? Do I tell you about her? Do I tell her about you? Do I tell Enjolras the way she feels about him? Does it matter? If the revolution is coming as soon as he says, will we all still be around at the end of it to care? Why are we doomed to love on our own, separate from the one person who could make us truly happy? Does requited love even exist? As I stand here outside your café, peering through the window at you, I wonder all this. And I smile; today you look happier than I've ever seen you. Soon it becomes clear, however, that you're talking about her, and my mind is forced back into my dilemma. I still don't want to lie to you and say I haven't found her, should you ask, but telling the truth also poses problems. Either I tell you the whole truth, including Cosette's love for your friend, or I merely tell you where she lives and let you find out for yourself. But no, I can't do that to you, no matter what. The question is soon settled; Enjolras notices me, and this time lets you know I'm there. You leave the café and beg me for news; I lead you to her house, as I knew I would, but luck is with me. She's not outside, although her father is; fearing his attention, you decide we should leave.

It appears I was right this afternoon, when I thought that the impending revolution would likely mean that the whole issue of what to tell you--about me, about Cosette--was irrelevant. Hard to believe it could begin so quickly, but it has. I was there when Enjolras came to tell you that the barricades had risen, and this time he didn't see me any more than you did. And so I decided to follow you; if we can't be together in life, maybe we can in death. You soon recognized me, however. I don't know why I agreed to take the letter to Cosette, but I'm glad that you care enough about me to want me safely away from the battle--more than you can ever know. I'm also glad that I found her father at home and willing to give her the message; what would I have told her if she'd asked about Enjolras again?

No matter what you say to me, I can't leave you to die alone--despite the fact that I truly appreciate your concern. I just wouldn't be able to live without you. And so I'm returning to the barricade to be with you for the last time. Apparently you aren't the only one who finds me invisible; I've managed to sneak past the National Guard without notice. It looks like I may even get over the barricade without being seen....

Pain explodes through my chest--I barely manage to pull myself over the top of the barricade--I can't breathe--I feel your friends helping me down. Somehow I am able to tell you that the letter was delivered before collapsing at your feet. You're holding me now, I can hardly believe it. I won't have long, I must tell you how I feel now. I can die happy, with you to protect me. You're crying, how strange, there's no reason to. I'm not in pain any more, I have you keeping me safe. I love you, you know; I always have. Don't cry! You're with me now, and I'm content. I love you, Marius! Don't forget me...

I can feel the life draining from my body. With the last of my strength I take one final look at these people who are your friends, and therefore mine in a way. As my eyes fall on Enjolras, the look I see in his startles me even in death....It's achingly familiar...I know that look far too well....Repressed longing, pain long denied acknowledgement, mixed in his eyes with inexpressible grief....In shock, I struggle to hang on to life long enough to understand....Is it possible? Could he...actually...be....