“…and I just think we are different people now.”
The young man takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his long dark hair. You can tell he has done it a lot today because the strands are curled and greasy from repeated touch. A sure sign of frustration. He exhales steadily. This is his shot. Say the right words and everything can be okay again:
“I am difficult. I know it. I know it because I can feel myself being that way. It is like small bits of sandpaper that scrape across my cerebelum as I speak the words that I know are destined to displease you. Please trust me, I know when I am doing it, but I really just can’t help it. It is a testament to how I feel about you.”
Another breath and a look around the bar. It is quiet this time of day. Just commited drunks and the others.
“It is not a bad thing either. No, no. It’s just you make me a little crazy. You run through my mind constantly and as you do it I am conflicted by how much I am in awe of you and how much I feel that I am not worthy. I feel this way and when I see you outside of my mind only the awe exists, but when you are gone the insecurity remains.”
“Plus… Our history. Mistakes on both sides that only add to it. But! Scar tissue is good. A reminder of what drew blood, but did not kill. I know this: I would suffer for you; more scars and abbrasions. Even now as we seem to drift apart and the pain is most intense I would stay in this flame. “
They look at each other and then to their drinks. She is hunched forward and his shoulders have sagged. He takes a sip of his drink and it seems to revitalize him slightly.
“Remember our perfect day? In the shell of that ruined church we found along the river path? We sat and talked and we talked so long that we nearly got stuck out in the woods. That was right before we left, together.”
“I think about that day a lot. There was no rush and everything seemed important and unimportant at the same time. Like, the words no matter their subject, held their own seperate and intense meaning. We loved each other then, I think.”
The last words cause her to sit straighter and cast a sideways glance at him.
“We did. I remember the next day I said so while we were laying in bed in the morning. You were pretending to be asleep and I told you I was in love with you. That wasn’t a dream, right? It wasn’t a mistake. It was a purity in our lives that we have seldom sought for again and I am truly sorry we have not. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
More silence, but also heat. I can feel it as I refill their drinks. It cinges my knuckles that grip the bottle and I feel a sweat break out on my forehead. He’s not going to win. They weren’t the right words, but there is fire in that soul of his. Briefly and insanely I worry about it physically setting fire to the spirits just behind the bar, but I mentally shake that worry in time to hear her:
“I’m sorry, too. I have to go.”
There are losers every night in my little bar on the moon, but I felt for this one. He charged the battlements, but sometimes a lady’s cold steel resolution cuts through even the most valiant of heroism.
Drinks on me, fella.
The Lunar Speakeasy 