More than a Melody (H.S) ON HOLD

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For several months he came here.

He was here but his mind always seemed.. so far; reaching out to the very ends of the ocean. I wondered who he was, why he was here every night, what his purpose was, but he only paid mind to the papers spread out before him.

And when he was done writing, coffee untouched, he would bring the mug to the counter, hand it to me, thank me, wish me a good night, and then he would be gone; pencil in his pocket and papers pressed tightly between his fair hands.

When he spoke, no matter how simple, I froze. As silly as that may sound, every piece of me resembled marble, my breathing hitched, lungs throbbing like the gusts of hurricane force winds.

I couldn't even give a logical explanation as to why. I wish I could. Was this just boredom? Probably. That's what happens when you live in a seemingly uneventful town.

Pathetic, really. Really, really pathetic.

"Ollie," a familiar voice calls softly, causing me to avert my gaze from the outside window.

"I hate to ask you," my brother says almost solemnly, fingers anxiously adjusting the band of his leather watch, "but can you close tonight? Vincent's not doing too great."

"Is he okay?" Worry drips from my tongue as I inadvertently wipe down the laminate countertop, the damp napkin beginning to tear.

"Panic attack." Miles words are brief yet I nod nonetheless, showing my understanding, sorrow burrowing deep within me.

"Go, take care of him." I rub Miles's arm delicately, pain embedded within my pupils as I ache for Vincent, his boyfriend.

"I know you've never closed alone, so please, please, please," he begs, "call me as soon as you are leaving the store and have your pepper spray by you. Your car isn't far, but please," his eyes meet mine, searching for any glimmer of reassurance.

"You've got it. I've been waiting for the chance to put that pepper spray to use." The joke was inappropriate but I couldn't help but smile.

"Not funny," he scowls, reaching for his keys and feeling for his wallet in his back pocket.

"Try and take me seriously." His words are stern but the light in his eyes indicates otherwise.

"Please leave, I'll be fine, worry about Vince." Pointing to the exit I use my free hand to guide him, following close behind his meek steps.

"Love you," Miles says almost cautiously, briefly eyeing the man in the booth, the only patron left, as he heads for the door.

"You too, tell Vince I'm thinking about him," I call as he swings open the stained glass door, the bell above signaling his departure.

The silence was the most noticeable. I cursed Miles under my breath for having already cleaned the back because I was in dire need of something to do. Anything to distract myself from the elephant in the room. The elephant that somehow never left the room, at least not in the evenings. I couldn't seem to gather how such a mundane place could be enticing enough to spend days on end at, but I also was perfectly aware that it wasn't my business.

Switching on the scorching tap water, I reach for the blue dish soap, taking it upon myself to rewash each dish to keep busy. The water that trickles off of each plate encases my hands with a gratifying warmth, trailing down my forefinger and palms with a calming simplicity. I envision myself lying in a warm bath, soapsuds lining the surface, a few candles lit and placed along the ends. It'd been so long since I last enjoyed anything that was remotely relaxing. Between afternoon classes and night shifts at the diner, I almost never found time for myself. Washing plates before closing up was the closest form of self indulgence I've experienced in weeks.