Futures Past

Sedate flames licked crackling logs. Comforting scents permeated the dimness: hot apple cider, steamy mulled wine, and embracing woodsmoke. Merry conversations, punctuated by laughter, filled the room. Gusts of frigid air stirred into the atmosphere of musical liveliness. Heavy boots on shivering toes, plodded up to the wooden bar as their owners melted into the softness of the happy room. Outside, beyond the thick log walls, snow blanketed the dark night in dreamy silence.

Staring into the happy fireplace, a man sat in a well-worn chair. Beside him, a neglected glass of beer dripped condensation.

“May I sit here?” The voice was rough and tired, but cheery.

The quenched man sat up, startled, wiping red eyes with the back of his hand.

“Uh. Sure. Yeah- of course.”

“Bad day?”

“No,” he lied. “I’m fine.”

The older man's wrinkled, dusky face spit a laugh. His white hair was disheveled, where he still had it. Heavy eyes shone above a childlike smirk.

“Yes, I can tell. Your joy is obvious.”

The younger man stared at the elder. He began to regret accepting the company. The older man smiled into the fire, silently chuckling to himself, as he eased into a seat. His eyes twinkled.

“Nothing to feel shame about-”

“I don’t.”

“Good. I’ve had my share of bad days, too. More than my share. But, the funny thing about bad days is that they always seem exquisite when they’re gone, you know?”

The younger man mumbled something incoherent and took a gulp of his forgotten beer.

The old man sighed, distant. Absent. “These mountains look different every time I see them.”

The younger man nodded, “yeah, for sure,” between mouthfuls of the golden lager. “They’re beautiful”.

“More beautiful every time I see them.”

The fire continued to crackle. Muted laughter washed over the pair. The music seemed to fade.

“I still remember the first time I saw them. I was with my girlfriend. Well, ex.”

“Me too.” The young man trembled briefly, then steadied.

“I was a few years younger than you. I loved that girl very much. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to show her. In truth, I never really knew it myself until she was gone. Never found another one quite like her. And, trust me, I looked.”

“Me too,” replied the younger man, “but I don’t want to look.” He laughed, but it felt strangled; odd and artificial in his ears, as if it belonged to someone else. It was bitter on his tongue. Tears threatened to drown his eyes, before slipping silently, without protest, down his cheek. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.

“Neither did I. Love is a son of a-”

“Hey there, would you like another drink? Oh, is this your dad? Hi! Can I get you a drink, sir?”

“No, thank you. I quit years ago. Bad for the noggin. Especially the next morning. Plus, it never quite helped. Never did what I hoped it might.” The old man smiled and winked at the young woman. “But, I think my friend here might want another”.

The young man nodded while gulping down the last of the bubbling liquid. “Yeah,” he said, dragging a forearm across his frothy mouth, “I’ll have a stout this time”.

“Sounds great, hon.”

They watched the fire dance along the wood, leaving trails of char and glowing embers.

“She’s nice.”

The young man grunted.

More moments passed as the two sat quiet; a pair of statues in the dark, soaking in the ambiance. The world moved around their tiny, untouched pocket of space.

“It’s not easy. It never is. You look like you cared for this person tremendously. I am sorry for your loss.”

“Me too.”

“I know you hate hearing this, but you’ll be ok.”

The young man scowled at the older man, who kept staring into the fire. The room felt hot, tight. His pulse flooded his chest, his throat. He struggled to deepen shallow breaths. Closing his eyes, he shook his head free of recollection.

After a few, long moments, he relaxed. “How did you do it?”

“You’ll need to be a bit more specific, son.”

“To stop the… to let go. To move on.”

“Same thing that everyone else does. I settled. It was great. Not because we were a perfect match. Honestly, I would’ve preferred the first one. But, I chose to appreciate her. I chose to appreciate everything. To be fully present, you know? And it truly was great.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“Me neither, but that’s life. Things happen. You do things, and more things happen. They just keep happening. You do your best, if you’re clever. But nothing ever works out the way you think it will. Sometimes, it works out even better than you could have imagined. But you never know. And you’re never ready. And you’re never in control- not really. So, why worry?”

The waitress came back, placing a beer in front of the younger man, and iced water in front of the old. A wedge of lemon rested on the lip.

“That is very thoughtful of you, dear. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” the waitress replied with a wink.

The young man finished half his glass before she turned away. “I’ll need another. A blonde this time.”

“A blonde? Took you more for a brunette guy.”

The old man roared laughter. “You’re quite perceptive!”

She smiled and walked away, “I’ll be back with your blonde.”

The young man looked at the old, with the thoughtful regard of unsettled curiosity, before shaking his head.

“It wasn’t funny.”

The fire drew him back into a reverie.

----

“Take this. I don’t need it anymore. I’m going hunting tomorrow. Don’t know when I’ll return.” The party thrived around them. The old man slid a small book across the walnut table. It was bound in lucious black leather. It looked ancient, yet was in beautiful condition. It was supple, simple, and modest- both gorgeous and unremarkable.

“You can still hunt?” The young man asked, absently, as he admired the small tome.

“For my quarry for, yes.”

The young man was transfixed.

The older man laughed as he flagged the waitress. “This one is on me, son. Have yourself a lovely evening. And remember, enjoy the little things.”

The waitress arrived, “Game over, sir?”

The old man laughed, “Yes, you could say that. Or maybe it’s just beginning. Who knows? Either way, you have yourself a lovely evening. And thanks for taking care of my friend here.”

“Don’t worry, hon, I promise I won’t let him get into too much trouble. Not real trouble, anyway.”

The old man smiled and shuffled toward the door.

“Tip her well.”

“Oh, he will.”

The old man laughed again, shaking his head. “So perceptive.”

“We all have our moments.”

----

Cold wind brushed his lips. Winter was a hassle these days, but fiery excitement kept him feeling snug and toasty, adrift in the fresh snow. The friendly aroma of burning wood floated on the music and laughter that poured invitingly from a not-so-distant building. Skis and snowboards rested in brackets that stood along the entryway. Silhouettes swayed rhythmically inside while colourful lights flashed in the dark. A smile touched his lips.

Outside, smokers conversed loudly. They looked terribly young, and so alive. Infants. The man’s smile widened.

No one seemed to notice him as he walked toward the busy doorway. Bodies flowed between the crowded room and the tranquil night. He stepped lightly past the threshold.

The room looked different from how he remembered it. The colours were wrong, the dimensions off. Reality was a caricature of his memory. Everyone was animated, beautiful, and unaware. How had he not noticed this before?

Maybe this is the wrong place?

The thought was dismissed as quickly as it arose. Every sensation felt familiar, yet foreign. Memory interwoven with reality. How long had it been?

He pushed through the pulsating masses toward the back of the building. Women wearing tight, revealing black tops, and even tighter jean shorts, slipped easily through the crowd. They moved effortlessly, despite being laden with trays full of brimming drinks.

He spotted the fireplace. Someone was sitting where he sat all those years ago. Slowly, he approached the glowing firelight, taking everything in. He did not want to miss any detail.

Everyone looked so alive! Vibrant. They took it all for granted, he knew because he had too. Everything is taken for granted when thought to last forever. When things finally leave- youth, health, love- the pain is shocking and unbearable. It always hurts, until one learns gratitude and presence. After, it still hurts, but differently. The regret of missing out due to preoccupation, disappears. Regret is poison.

“May I sit here?”

The man looked startled. He wiped his swollen, red eyes with the back of his hand. A few eyelashes were stuck together by tears. He seemed embarrassed as he mumbled a reply. The old man smiled as he eased himself into the seat. Flames played merrily on split lumber.

“Bad day?”

The young man absently picked at his nails as he spoke. He began to nod, but stopped abruptly. “No, I’m fine.” He seemed confused by the words leaving his mouth.

“Yes, I can tell.”

His mind jumped back to his youth. The woman he had met while travelling. The long trips to visit her, and the longer calls lasting into dawn. The emotions. The promises. The endless longing between visits. Agony of separation, thickness of absence. The week of blissful respite every couple of months- an oasis, a pocket of air in the choking expanse of distance. It was horrible. He had never loved anyone, anything as much as he loved her.

“Can I get you a drink, sir?”

“No, thank you. I quit years ago.”

He thought about his youth. How she had gone. She had married and birthed a few kids. He knew she would be a wonderful mother. He wished he had been there to witness it. To give her that gift. She was his best friend. She had been.

How many good things die in ruin because we refuse to understand each other? How much is lost because we lose trust? Why is communication so tricky?

He remembered his wife. She was a sweet human. Love never strikes twice in quite the same way. A different part of you is illuminated by each piece that is burnt away. Holes in your being let the daylight in, while bleeding out your fantasies. Reality is cold and indifferent. No one controls anything, not truly. Life is chaos and that is precisely what makes it worth living.

“Take this. I don’t need it anymore.”

Inside, was a letter he had written that morning. Well, not that morning. A morning he had lived a lifetime away.

The message contained a few pages of observations, advice, and warnings: cheat notes. Lucky numbers and a fortunate date, names of companies worth looking into, and a few predictions set as tantalising, yet plausibly deniable, proof. Lager, stout, blonde. Innocuous, but significant. Enough to seduce a tortured mind. Sometimes, you had to make your own luck.

At the doorway, the old man took one final look into his past. He caught the young man’s gaze for a moment. They both smiled with the appreciative melancholy that accompanies transition. The old man nodded. The young man’s bemused smirk mouthed something wordlessly. The old man smiled his widest, shrugged, and strode into the beckoning night.