Futile Wars

Epilogue

I'm laughing at some stupid joke when I see him. My glass freezes midair as I stare, convinced that I've seen a ghost. But it's him, it's definitely him. An older version of him, a slightly rougher version of him, but it is him. Just there across the crowded room, next to the pool table.

It's been years.

What is he doing here? How did he know I'm here? But then I remember it's a complete coincidence I happened to come to this pub tonight. This is chance, nothing else. One of my friends looks at me. "Are you ok, man?"

"Yeah, yeah, um, just saw an old friend is all." I give him a reassuring smile. But I'm not ok, my insides have frozen. My heart has stopped beating. I look over again and there he is talking to people I don't recognise, people from his new life, new friends, new jobs, new lovers. And I feel like I am old, so fucking ancient, a random word misspelled in his book.

Then he looks around and sees me. I can see his eyes widen in surprise, shock even. Do something! I tell myself. So I nod. I give him a nod of recognition. He stares at me for a good few seconds before he returns the nod. Then I look away. I look at the floor, anything, anywhere; I just can't bear looking at him. I want to talk to him, but I don't want to go talk to him. I want to know how he's doing, but I don't want to ask how he's doing.

My heart comes back to life, beating insanely. My mind is spinning, my stomach churns and this cannot be happening. I finish my drink with shaky hands and gather many confused and worried looks from my party. I give them a weak, weak smile and say I need another one. I somehow manage to walk to the bar and I lean against the counter and sigh. I feel like I've won a war making my way to the bar. The bartender looks at me and I tell him to pour me another one.

"Hey," I hear a voice behind me. I know it's him.

I don't want to turn around, but I do. There he is with a shocked, nervous look on his face. And my insides freeze again, they clutch together so tight that it hurts. The pain inside me nearly paralyses my tongue. But I manage to open my mouth and force a sound from my throat.

"Hey."

"Fancy seeing you here, eh?" he says nervously.

"Yeah..." I mumble. I wonder if I sound as terrified as he looks.

Silence.

"So how's it going?" I finally ask. I mean, that is what you're supposed to ask, right?

"Good. I'm good. I've, uh, I've got your band's album. It's really good," he says.

"Thanks," I mutter. I vaguely wonder if he noticed the songs that were about us. The bartender comes back with my glass and I give the guy the money.

"And how are you?" he asks me.

"I'm doing good, too. Life's good," I say. He lets out a sigh he's been holding. I guess that's why he came over, to make sure I'm doing fine. To prove himself a point. Usually people would launch into small talk of where you live, are you married, how's your job, how's your family, but we don't. None of that matters, none of that has any real value.

Too much happened between us. There's too much pain and regret. And I remember those few days in October all those years ago. I remember what I did and I hang my head in shame.

I stand there with my drink and force myself to look at him. He eventually turns his gaze away from my face. I shift my legs. "Well, I, uh...I should go back..." I start.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," he immediately says and smiles at me. I smile back.

"But it was really nice seeing you again," I tell him.

"Definitely," he nods, "Definitely."

I give him a final nod and start walking away. That's what I always did best, walk away. Then I hear him speak.

"I still miss you sometimes."

I stop and close my eyes. I feel like crying, I feel like laughing, I feel desperate and lost. And I know everything his words are saying, I know it all too well. What happened to us? Why did we let each other go? Why didn't we fight harder? What did you do to me? Why? Why didn't we ever get a fucking chance when we loved each other so much? Why do I always feel sad?

I turn my head and look at him. His eyes are asking the questions that neither one of us has the answers to. My voice is hoarse. "Yeah," I say and nod. I know that the pain on his face is also visible on mine.

I tear my eyes away from him and take a step away.

And another.

And another.

The End