If I Look Back

I pace around the empty flat, cataloging all the places where her things used to be. She’d been incredibly efficient packing up her things and hadn’t forgotten a single item. Not even a sock or a bobby pin. Sadly, the flat doesn’t feel as different as it looks.

We’d both known this was coming for quite some time. We hadn’t been silly in months. We hadn’t made real time for each other in almost a year and we hadn’t had sex in weeks. When we first met, we could spend hours in each other’s company; we were always laughing and sharing our hopes for the future.

But our hopes diverged and we couldn’t make them come back together.

13 years and suddenly it’s over. Where did the time go? Where was I when she was changing her mind? Or was I the one who changed? I’ll probably never know where the rift started or what caused it and I’ll have to come to terms with the unresolved, unsolved mystery of it.

I feel strangely at peace without her but it’s still a chasm. I take my usual seat in my usual chair and flick on the television but there’s nothing on at this time of night. It’s too late for daytime TV and too early for late night TV.

“Well, Ben,” I say to myself after trying to find a book to read without success. “There’s only one thing for it. You’d better go to the pub.”

I wrap a scarf around my neck and pick up the cardigan I’d thrown over the chair by the door. I pat my pocket to make sure my wallet is there and grab the keys off the side table. I head out the door but pop back in for a coat when I see it’s raining. I make my way to the tube and my favorite pub.

When I arrive, the rain is letting up but the pavement is dark and slick. I take a deep breath, inhaling the city air and the smell of the damp. I wrap my coat a little bit tighter and walk a bit faster to get out of the last of the rain.

The pub is murky and warm; between the dull lighting and the smoke from the fireplace, the aura is almost unnatural. There are a few patrons but no one I recognize.

“Evening, Basil.” I call to the bartender. A petite blonde by the fire and a couple in the farthest dark corner are the only others in the bar. Only the blonde by the fire looks up. She has a novel in one hand and a pint in the other. The fire reflects on her face so I cannot see her features properly but she is beautiful in the warm light.

“Evening, Benedict.” Basil calls from behind the bar. “The usual?” I nod quietly and he grabs a pint glass from under the bar. “What brings you in tonight?” he asks, politely.

“The flat just felt to quiet and there was nothing on tele.” I reply, settling onto a barstool. When he looks confused, I explain further. “Olivia and I have separated.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” He says, quietly. I know he’d seen the changes over time too. He’s observant that way. He’d known us, both individually and as a couple.

“It has been over for some time now.” I reply. “Suddenly I realize that I am not missing Olivia but the life I thought we were going to have. I feel so far away from the family life I’ve been wanting.”

“Ah, what kind of counsel would you like?” he asks with a wink. “I can tell you that everything will be okay, or that she was never worth it anyway; I’ve got plenty of lines designed to make people feel better.” He’s joking with me but I know that he’s willing to listen if I wanted to talk.

“I don’t think there’s anything to say, my friend.” I answer before taking a long sip of beer.

“Could I please have another?” a soft, accented voice asks. I turn to see the blonde. She is smaller than I originally guessed. I’d put her at about 5’6” but I see now that she is smaller than that; she is no taller than 5’3”.

“Of course you can, love.” Basil replies with a smile.

I can see her properly now. She is petite but not childish in figure, her hair is what I can only describe has champagne with butterscotch and it is pulled loosely into messy ponytail that falls down her back. Her nose is petite and matches perfectly with her pink lips. And her eyes are indescribable. Her eyelashes create a long, dark, full fringe and there is a smoky line of black around the lash line. Her eyes are each a different color. One is deep, slate blue and the other is lighter, greener and almost electric; like the places where fresh water and salt-water meet but don’t easily mix.

‘Wow, Benedict.’ I silently scold myself. ‘Is that really the best way you can think of to describe eyes? Idiot.’

“Thank you,” she says quietly and takes her glass back to her seat by the fire. I study her over my shoulder for a moment before turning back to my drink. She sways when she walks but not in an exaggerated or overly feminine way. She is graceful.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen her.” Basil begins, without prompting. “She just appeared this evening. Her accent is wrong to be from the Isles but I’m guessing she’s from Scandinavia. But there’s something else in her accent.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, moodily. Suddenly I am rather grumpy. I can’t describe her eye color without being nerdy and scientific and I can’t place her accent because I didn’t hear her speak long enough.

“Because I saw you looking at her. Just thought I’d let you know what I know.” When I look at him, he is smiling at me with a knowing smile.

“Oh, no you don’t!” I say with a chastising wag of my finger. “Don’t go throwing me into the path of beautiful, young blondes. She’ll chew me up and spit me out.”

Basil just shrugs. I sigh and turn my attention back to my beer.