Month: October 2018

He sat back relaxed on his stool, she bent in towards the bar, curled around her drink. They looked straight ahead, then looked at each other, shy smiles breaking across their faces.

She took a sip from her drink. “There’s too much ice, not enough of the good stuff.”

“That’s why you have to drink it like this,” he held up his short glass of clear liquid, “nothing to get in the way of the goodness.”

She smiled at him. He wanted to reach out, wrap her up and squeeze. He wanted to feel her close to him. He remained hunched on his stool.

“We should do this more often,” he suggested.

“I can’t believe it’s taken us this long,” her smile clawed at his heart.

His phone vibrated and a green message flashed across the screen. He frowned down at it.

“I hate that.”

“What?”

“That look that comes over your face when the phone vibrates.”

“It’s nothing. It’s not bad.”

“It’s not nothing,” she reached out and touched his hand, “I wish I could help you.”

“You do. This helps,” he swung his arm out to take in the bar, “it keeps me relaxed.”

She smiled, but he could see the doubt in her eyes. It passed and was replaced by want. He felt something warm in his chest.

“I have to go soon.”

“I know,” she smiled. He felt helpless.

“Can we do this again?”

“If you’ll allow it, I’d love to.”

“Yes, please.”

They finished their drinks and he left cash on the bar.

Rain punished the pavement. He thought about how he’d have to run.

“Do you want a ride?” she asked.

“Are you sure you should drive?”

“Maybe not yet.”

“Good, don’t.”

They pushed through the doors, and headed out into the storm.

Flames had always brought him a calm place to dream. They would slow his mind and allow him to see his future. These flames were different, while still a calming influence, they contained only memories, and the memories were full of an all-consuming pain.

Mesmerized, he stared with blank eyes as the flames licked at the tinder in front of him. The good, hard oak crackled and snapped in the heat. It was hot too. The heat was almost uncomfortable, but the dark night outside the circle of flame was cold, so he leaned in closer, hungry for the fire’s warmth.

He’d started to gather fuel in the early afternoon. It hadn’t been difficult. He’d lit the match, feeling the satisfaction of the flame’s catching just as the sun sank behind the mountains.

Since childhood, he’d always liked a good fire. He used to nap with his father in front of the hearth in their living room. As a college student, he had read many a book in front of those same flames.

Now, he sat with a glass of good whiskey watching as papers curled in around the heat before turning to ash and the flames turned the wood to charred embers. He thought of nothing; he thought of everything as the flames danced across his face.

Life twisted in the flames, the life he had wanted burned somewhere in their orange glow. The life he had lived fueled them. He sought the life he would lead in their light.

When the windows of the second floor blew out, the crowd across the street gasped. He took a sip of the whiskey and pulled his robe tighter around him. He leaned further back in the lawn chair and thought about how pleasant it might be to close his eyes.