I flinched. I’d just heard someone I didn’t I’d ever hear from again.
My eyes opened and I turned to face the source of that voice. To my left, a man sat on the front steps leading up to that establishment. I was certain he had not been there just a moment ago. His blue eyes appeared fixated on the night sky above us. It had to be the eyes of a ghost, but that dead man was still breathing.
It couldn’t be him. I’d seen him die in front of me. But, he had the same voice, the same eyes and face I’d seen in that ditch. Only this time, he wasn’t actively bleeding from his abdomen. In fact, he seemed in perfect health, as though he hadn’t even been shot in the first place.
From his attire alone, he seemed as if an entirely different man. There were no creases in the fabric and was seemingly pressed into perfection. Even with what little knowledge I had about clothing, I could still tell his were of high quality. It was the kind made to outlast you.
That alone made him stand out, but the muted colour of his suit—a dark brown over a grey waistcoat—allowed him to blend into a crowd. His blonde hair was neatly slicked back. His blonde hair was neatly slicked back, every strand where it should be with not even one out of place. It was a stark difference from the rugged uniform he’d worn in that ditch with his dishevelled hair hidden under his helmet.
But there was also a scar. A faint one that ran along his jaw. It was the only hint of the man I’d met on that battlefield. But while jarring, that imperfection did little to tarnish his otherwise flawless appearance.
He wore a look of contentment on his face that masked whatever thoughts ran through his mind. I glanced around, but there was no one else nearby, meaning it had to be me who he was, unfortunately, addressing. His reason was unclear and he showed no indication of recognising me yet.
“It’s just like any other night,” I finally responded. I looked up towards the same sky he was gazing upon, wondering if there was something significant there that drew him to it.
“True,” he said, his voice resonant but having this soothing quality to it. It was so unlike the strain in his voice he carried that day. “But I do like the consistency of it all.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I frankly didn’t care enough to ask. Tragically, he decided to continue anyway.
“No matter how much time passes or how life changes, the stars and moon remain all the same. I find that to be rather comforting actually. Wouldn’t you agree?”
His eyes left the sky and shifted to me. As his blue eyes finally met mine, I waited for anything that would indicate he knew who I was. It’d be troublesome if he did. I was only willing to have Davis be the only one who knew the truth of who I was during the war. It was easier that way.
But, this man just looked at me as though I were a stranger to him. However, he seemed far too relaxed for someone trying to make conversation with a near-complete stranger. It was odd. His eyes seemed neither sad nor happy, just content. A look of a man simply existing.
Either he really didn’t recognise me or was a fine actor.
“Do you usually start conversations with strangers on the street, sir?” I asked, ignoring his question entirely.
“No, not usually. But, after a few drinks, I seem to lose some of my sensibilities.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly. Despite the faint scent of alcohol I could smell from his breath, he appeared fully sober. However, his sanity was questionable even if he denied a tendency to pursue social engagement with strangers on the street.
“Then consider abstaining from alcohol.”
I was starting to think he genuinely didn’t recognise me. Did that morphine work a little too well on him? But, on the off chance he would suddenly remember, perhaps it’d be best for me to run away.
“You’re probably right,” he agreed, his expression showing no malice or offence to my recommendation. “But it does help the night to go by faster.”
“So you want the night to move by faster?”
“Sometimes,” he said, his voice adopting a more melancholic tone. “There are days where morning feels as though it cannot arrive fast enough. And yet, there are certain nights which I never want to end.”
This man was proving to be more eccentric than I initially remembered. Surely he knew that the passage of time couldn’t fluctuate as so?
“And which nights are those?”
“Certainly the ones spent sitting by the street being lectured about my drinking habits,” he said with an equal bluntness, a teasing glint in his eyes as he looked at me.
I gave him a blank look. Expecting a serious response from this man was clearly a mistake. Without saying another word, I turned my eyes away from him. Perhaps if I didn’t acknowledge his presence for long enough, he would go away.
“Are you trying to ignore me now, Miss?”
“Yes.”
I thought I had made my point rather clear, but this man seemed to find the situation more amusing than anything. He chuckled as an annoyingly soft smile appeared on his face. “You shouldn’t be so blunt. Another man would’ve been offended by your words”
“And you are not?”
He paused for a moment before shaking his head. “No, surprisingly not. I find it more refreshing than anything.”
I expected him to elaborate further, but he didn’t. Unlike others who often wore their feelings plainly on their face or conveyed them with words, this man did neither. It made it harder to understand his intentions. Did he really just want to speak to a stranger?
“Could you not find someone else to talk to?”
“Why should I? I have a perfectly fine conversation partner right here,” he said with a smile that irked me. “But maybe you should’ve considered a less busy street if you didn’t want to be bothered.”
“Sir, there is no one else here but you.”
“And yet you’re also here practically sulking on the side of the road.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Expressing my emotions in such a manner that he described was not something I’d done before.
“Sulking?”
“It does seem that way, Miss,” he said, all too nonchalantly. “Though if that was your aim, surely there are more practical places to sulk?”
“I’m not sulking.”
“Then why are you out here so late? Especially right outside a bar with seemingly no intention to go inside?” He asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. “Was it a lover’s quarrel? An argument with your family? Or do you just enjoy watching drunks come out to make a fool of themselves-”
“I just need to pass the time," I said, cutting him off from continuing his, frankly, ridiculous list of possibilities. My arms tightened around my legs as I lowered my chin.
“You want to pass the time?”
“That’s right.”
His expression dulled, the teasing glint in his eyes fading. He sighed sighing and stared at the ground. “Then it seems we’re both here for similar reasons.”
There was a brief moment of silence which washed over the both of us. That teasing look earlier had hidden the weariness that now laid bare in his eyes. I sighed quietly before finally speaking up again.
“Sir, can I ask you something?”
He tilted his head, giving me a curious look. “Go ahead.”
“Would you please stop talking?”
He blinked a few times, taken aback by my bluntness. “Well that was rather direct,” he remarked, but he didn’t seem upset or offended by my words.
“I thought you said my bluntness was refreshing. But, I can rephrase it more politely if you’d prefer.”
“No need, I don’t need you to sugarcoat it. Besides, I wouldn’t mind the quiet,” he said as he looked away from me and back up towards the sky. “But would you mind if I stayed here? I’m afraid you’ve stolen one of my favourite sulking spots.”
Outside a bar? Maybe he was an alcoholic after all. Either way, it was no business of mine. His reference to ‘sulking’ made it seem like he was teasing me again. I should’ve just exited the conversation and left him here on the side of the road without testing my luck on this man’s memory. But instead, for whatever reason, I decided to stay.
“Do what you want.”
We sat there, several feet apart and yet still close enough to be considered within each other's company. I wasn’t sure how long I stayed there for, gazing up to the sky trying to search for the same meaning this man saw among the stars. There was something different about him. While was as quippy as before, he seemed more reserved and restrained than the man I’d met down in those trenches. I started to doubt if he was the same man at all.
I thought after some time, he would try to speak up again. But he didn’t utter another word or try to fill the silence between us. It was as if I was not there to him at all, and he was not there to me. There was only a mutual agreement between the both of us to immerse in the night as time passed.
While everyone else I’d talked to seemed persistent to fill moments like this with menial small talk or engaging in conversation, this man appeared comfortable with the quiet, just as I was.
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