North Road {HS}

Epilogue

London, 1923.

I never used to believe in ghosts. I thought of them as silly in fact, and laughed in disdain at people ignorant enough to believe such a thing existed. But now they make up the very fabric of who I am.

As men in dirty, green wool march towards me in the darkness yet again, I know how wrong I was. Their faces are drawn and their eyes are empty and their recent boyhood seems like a far off memory. The faces change night to night but the last boy in the procession is always the same. He turns to look at me as he passes. His eyes scream of exhaustion but also of something else. An undying admiration of me. It is that look that catches my breath in my throat. That look used to add to my already over-large ego if I'm honest. But now, as it meets mine each night it seems to break me just a little more.

I can't take his eyes anymore so I break away and examine his dirty blonde hair that has begun to grow around his ears. I take in his nose and I take in his chin that has not yet grown any hair. Its then that I see the blood. It is everywhere and I am alarmed that I hadn't noticed it at first. It starts beneath his ear and drips down his neck staining the wrinkled collar of his uniform. Lewis is just the same as he has been every time I see him- a sickly white and yet, even in death there is so much life in his eyes-

"Harry," a voice wakes me, "Wake up. It's nearly eight."

I stir, thankful for the reprieve from the nightmare that is now just as familiar as breathing itself. She's standing over me with a smile on her face and typically I would smile back but today was a nightmare day and I don't have it in me to smile. Over time I've learned that some days are just like that. And so has she.

"Porky wants us there early tonight," she reminds me, "Got a big crowd coming in tonight."

She had gotten me a job at the club where she worked here in London and there I had discovered my new great love. Jazz.

She was wearing a black beaded dress already and her hair was brushed into neat waves around her ears. Porky liked her and had given her the simple job of just being- as long as it was being every night at his club wearing the cutting edge of fashion and spewing his praise to his patrons. She brought women in and women brought men in.

Before the war I would have been in shock. But the world was modernizing and she was modernizing along with it.

She had gotten me a job as a dish washer when I first arrived. No questions asked just a simple, "Good to see you, Harry."

There at the club I met Porky's top performers and learned a good club was really only worth its musicians. Among these was a man named Tommy Duran. He was the pianist.

After my first shift I had watched him play and things had changed for me. The moment I sat down at a piano myself my state of constant misery had been lifted and I wanted to know everything. Maybe somehow this very instrument might make me closer to her. Might bring me home.

"Alright Marge, what've we got tonight?" I asked

She examined her lipstick in the mirror as she spoke trying her best to avoid my reflection as I rose from the bed behind her in only my pants.

"Geezo Harry," she sighed, "Give a girl a warning, wontchya?"

I shrugged. It had been a nightmare day so I couldn't bring myself to care.

"Tommy's out tonight," she said.

"What?"

"What I said. Tommy's out," she rolled her eyes.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Means you gotta fill in," she explained.

"No, I'm not doing it."