Something inorganic would be built to match the newness of future plans further down the harbor. Not sure the historic society would have it in them to save this building, it’s seen better days.
His eyes twinkle with interest, “Well now, you seem pretty attached here.” He starts placing clean glasses in the station under the bar. “What did you say you’re doing now?”
“I didn’t.” I pause to contemplate what to answer with, knowing he wouldn’t take well to finding out I’m drinking myself to an early grave. Doubt and guilt hit me like a sledgehammer to the head as I take the last swig of my drink then set the glass aside, “I guess I don’t know what I’m meant to do now, my military career is kaput. I don’t know why I’m still here.”
It would have been easier on everyone if I were the one to die that day. It’s all I can think about.
Ah, yes. Here comes the sorry sack of shit back in action. Like an old friend you can never be rid of, right, Zander?
With his sleeves rolled to the elbow, I catch a hint of an older military tattoo on the inner part of his forearm as he places his palms on the bar, his gaze raking over my disheveled appearance hidden underneath. He can see under my mask, knows what it’s like.
Most would be oblivious to the concept.
“I’ll lend you an ear when you’re ready to talk about it.” His eyes meet mine, understanding laced within.
Grady hasn’t spoken of his time in the Irish Army in damn near fifty years, I now know why. I loathe talking about my time in Afghanistan; it’s best left in my head, so I do not hurt those I love.
My mask locks away the strain of emotions fighting to break free.
Then his words hit me and the mask shatters. Grady has said the one thing no one else has been able to get through to me.
When you’re ready to talk about it.
Will I ever be ready?
I don’t know how I’m to move on from the loss of my brother; he will always be inside my head, my heart, what’s left of it anyway.
Darkness follows with each step I take and for some reason Macbeth decides to make an appearance,“Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?”
I feel you Shakespeare. The torment is front and center.
“I’m lost.” I choke as the heels of my hands dig into my eyes. It takes everything in my power to keep it together right now. Strangers sit to my left, listening to the conversation.
Fucking embarrassing.
Shut it down, right now. Get the hell out of Dodge. This will not end well.
I’m not going to ruin my sister’s night by breaking down in one of our favorite places. It be forever tinged with the melancholy; I’d never visit again.
He rounds the worn wooden bar to stand at my side, “come with me, I need to show you somethin’.”
I lift my head from my hands and watch him head to the back of the kitchen. By the time he reaches the swinging door I hop off my stool and follow him, that inner voice shouting to me to trust what this man has to say.
Once inside the small office the smell of mint and worn leather hits me and oddly enough, I’m immediately calm. I click the door shut and he silently gestures for me to have a seat on the tan leather loveseat, which I do, then he hands me a bottle of water.
I thank him then my gaze floats around the ten by sixteen room. There isn’t much inside other than a worn black chair, an old oak desk, a filing cabinet stuffed in the corner next to a small floor to ceiling shelf filled with miscellaneous items and knickknacks, and a tiny table directly across from me. It be cramped if more than two people were in here at any given time.
Memorabilia coats the walls similar to what is out in the main area, but instead of local sports items there are pictures and keepsakes of his wife and children, and surprising to me, there are also pictures of his time spent in the Army. Aged paper clippings and men in uniforms in frames splatter most of the space.
He leans his body against the desk and crosses his arms, all while studying my face for any reaction.
I wonder why he brought me in here. Clearly this ishisspace and not many get to venture in its depths.
“Quite the history I’ve accumulated, wouldn’t ye say?” Grady says, “This is where I come to get away from everything and just think for a bit.” His gaze peruses the room at the history he is willing to share with me.
I give him a nod but can’t find any words to say, so I uncap the bottle and take a swig of water, not that it does much.
“Not every part of history is tragic or terrifying, there are good things that have come from my time spent in the Army; the men I served and formed bonds with, I found my wife then, had three children, and a chance at a new life here. See, it opened my eyes to new possibilities.” I watch one side of his lips twitch, a secret memory playing in his minds’ eye, “This place gave me a second chance, it put food on our table, our children through college, the first of our family to do so. It’s here that I kept the most important sliver of my sanity. Life, Zander. Ye need to fuckin’ live it.”