Elizabeth

The young man was sat upon the bar stool closest to the pub's entrance, with electric white rectangles every now and again flashing at his face from the cars that drove by outside. There was a constant golden sheen engulfing his skin from the afternoon sun creeping over the maple trees and the puffy clouds. He looked majestic with his black button-down shirt and contrasting light hair...

You could see his eyes darting from the curious bartender girl (she loved to question the foreigners), to the clock hanging above the entrance as if he were waiting for something to happen. In his right hand was occupied a ballpoint pen that continuously tapped the small notepad that was placed on the bar. The antagonistic muscles in his body moved his foot up and down as it curved just slightly around a small bar of the stool he sat upon.

He was a casual, as some would mutter in the booths that were submerged in darkness, for the rays of sunlight did not stretch far enough to them. A bottle of caña or a thin glass of vino tinto was ordered with any sort of tapa in which he craved. Today, he munched on the calamares a la romana and washed down the seafood aftertaste with té.

Hours passed as he spent every moment in a blatant daze. No one could ever find out what troubled his thoughts for if you asked him, he would intelligently avoid answering and slyly make the pursuer forget their intentions from the start. A heartfelt conversation would be aroused in seconds as a result of even trying to infringe into his person.

It wasn't until I saw him suddenly turn around in the stool to watch the television perched onto the wall above my head, that we made our first eye contact. It was accidental, we both seemed to have thought then as a subtle shock splattered on our faces. I was the first to avert my gaze, as usual with people, and returned to reading an article about Anastasia, one of Czar Nicholas II's daughters. If only I could escape like she had in her myth...

A throat cleared a moment later just above me, and I stared knowingly at the tall young man stood there. A smile was flashing through his eyes, though his lips remained in a straight line. The amusement resonating had also contaminated my own face, or so I felt it did.

"Hola," he spoke softly with his Sussex accent. His hands clasped together, portraying his anxious state, and a twitch of a smile motioned.

To ease his nerves, I attempted to smile warmly at him. "¿Qué pasa?"

His eyebrows furrowed, showing that he was trying to jog his memory of the interjection, and he chuckled lightly to himself when he realized he had no clue of what it meant. He stumbled with his words then, diminishing the cool aurora he usually had tied around his neck. He must have thought he looked like an idiot...

With sympathy, I gestured with my hands for him to take the vacant seat across from me, in which he gladly accepted, wanting to relieve of the wobbly pressure throbbing in his long legs. I must have surprised him, after a moment, when I spoke his native tongue English because if he had seen me before, and talking to the other customers, I only spoke in Spanish. The look on his face was priceless, however, with eyebrows shaping downwards as they were already escalated up on his forehead, showing an innocent yet confused expression.

"I did not know you spoke English." he laughed, shaking his head with a huge smile flaunting his pretty face. "Hardly anyone does on this part of town."

"Well, I did not think a British man such as you would travel this far into Spain. It's one of the most cultural districts and therefore, there are not many multilinguals residing here... I'm actually surprised you've made it this far without any trouble."

"Oh, if only you knew..."

In his eyes, stories were swimming about waiting to caught by the hook, but never were and had to retire back to the depths of his mind. Instead of blabbering on, he took a more cautious approach to see if I were interested at any rate.

"I actually played a show with my band just a couple of blocks down from here, and after the concert, we ate here. Ever since, and because we're taking some time off, I've been coming here to relax, or shall I say pasar-ing tiempo, as you would?" A wild snicker emitted from his mouth, in which he tried to cover with a hand, at the poorly-structured Spanish he was saying.

I couldn't help but laugh along at his joking nature, and let my guard down for him to see that I was, like many other Spaniards who came here, interested in his storyline. Would he be willing to share it with me unlike keeping it covert, which he habitually had done before, though?

As soon as he began talking again, however, it was exactly of what he had been hiding from everyone else. He told me about his Tuesday, when his band mate, Richard, and him accidentally intruded a house thinking it was another pub like this one. They were screamed at by the older woman living there with her four children, whom were throwing either plastic toys or books at the both of them as they were exiting. He had also explained to me about his notepad and what he kept written in there: lyrics, mainly, but sometimes there were little drawings of interesting things he had seen. Everything leaving his mouth was said with much enthusiasm, which had actually made him appear more attractive as time went on by, and that complimented his comical personality. I couldn't believe my eyes afterwards, really, when I had looked out the window to see dawn rapidly declining into the black clouds.

"So much time has gone by already?" he exclaimed, taking notice of the same thing. "Now I feel like a complete bloke with a mouth full of meat!"

His analogy confused me a bit, as he might have saw once his eyes swiveled their way back to mine, but he again laughed off his awkward persona. I joined in, like usual, this time around in the evening.

The laughter died down, eventually, and all seriousness shot through the air as well as fretful sighs from our lips.

"Well, I guess it's time for me to head back to my hotel, sadly enough." He smiled. "I really enjoyed spending time with you...-"

"-... Elizabeth."

He leered at me with an expression I could not read. "That's not a Spanish name, now is it?"

"No, it's not. I was born in Devon, actually, but I grew up in the next town over from here. Mi madre named me after the nurse that held her hand in the delivery room. That's why it's an English name."

"That- that is very interesting. Well, anyways, it was very nice speaking to you, Ellie. I'm Tom, by the way. I probably should have introduced myself earlier, but I seemingly got carried away with whatever I was saying."

Again his laughter filled the space between us, but this time it was much more shallow than vibrant. I could see in his eyes that weariness was filling his very core and much of his effort to react appropriately was diminishing. Though there also seemed to be a pit of sadness overwhelming his optimistic charisma, as well.

"I agree, it was very nice speaking with you, Tom..."

I wanted to say something more, perhaps asking to meet with him again, but my voice caught in my throat. It was a strange feeling, but not alien to me. I remember feeling this way when I first saw him enter the pub this afternoon.

His eyes, which I could now see very closely were hazel, took in my overall appearance, flashing from my hairline, all the way down to my toes that were protruding from my sandals, and back up to my brown eyes. His Adam's apple bobbled as he swallowed a moment later, ready to speak again.

"Is it all right if I give you my number to call?" he blurted out, though seeming exasperated by his own words, retaliated, "Sorry, that may have come off as desperate. I hope it didn't, really."

"No, no it's fine really."

I was trying to smile, but my bashfulness took over, and I instead just shakily handed him a napkin to write upon. Once he was done, giving me with napkin back, we both stared at one another as if words could not express our farewell after such a long time spent together.

But then he turned around with a nod, and strutted out into the night where the fireflies illuminated his retreating figure. And I stood, looking after him like I was in the very beginning.