Intertwined

Chapter 33: Scared Of An Old Man

S C A R

"Scared of an old man, kid?" Jack laughs, his eyes hauntingly taking me back to the time of war, where the smoke filled the air, and a mother wept over her missing children. A husband held the body of his wife in his bleeding arms and adolescents ravaged through trash cans for food.

"No, sorry, something came up," I say after what feels like forever. I take the toolbox and begin working on his door.

After a minute, he speaks up. "I'm sorry, boy, have I seen you before?"

The muscles in my shoulders tense as I look at him. "I don't think so."

He doesn't reply, only smiles.

I toy with a screwdriver in my hand, "Did you ever serve in the war?"

But I knew the answer.

"Got shot in the chest and I was sent back home," he looked me dead in the eye.

"How old were you then?" I unhinge the door.

"18. I was awfully scared, but I had a good friend, his encouragement kept me alive. I haven't seen him since and time, as usual, has taken from me. These days I can't even seem to remember his name," he looks at me expectantly.

"Do you ever miss him?" I ask before I can stop myself.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He smiles, nodding."He was quite the sad one. Always quick to show he doesn't care. I do hope he found someone to teach him that he need not be alone in his sadness."

He toys with the ring on his finger and it's the first time I notice it in our conversation, probably because I didn't allow myself to look at his hands and check if it was still there.

"He gave this to me," he says when catches me staring, "I've never taken it off."

Something in my heart rises and sinks.

I work as slowly as I can. "Did you ever...?"

He laughs. "I did. Never had kids, though. I married a war veteran, she was, quite the only one who'd ever given me a well-deserved smacking."

I laugh along with him after all these years and it feels like releasing a breath I've held in for a long, long time.

"She died, in the war, however. I never got to say goodbye."

"I'm sorry," I say earnestly, sad that I was done with my work here.

"Did you come back here directly, after the war?" I ask.

He thinks about it, nodding for a second. "Yes, but my friend was long gone."

I shake my head to stay away from the memory, as though that'd help.

"Maybe he wanted to stay. Maybe he couldn't," I suggest lightly, but it felt good to tell him my truth.

He smiles, "I never held that against him."

My head shoots up, "You didn't?"

He shakes his head again. "Wherever he is, I hope he's happy."

I swallow my emotions down. "Are you? Happy, I mean."

"I lived a long healthy life, had the privilege of loving someone, now all you kids keep me alive. All things considered, I'd say I had a good life."

I'm happy for you, I wanted to say.

"Well, your door's done. You won't have to worry about it bothering you anymore," I end up saying, backing out of the room.

"Scar," he calls me.

I didn't tell him my name.

"What did you say?" I ask, shock seeping into my tone.

He removed the ring I gave him from his finger and stares at it, as though saying goodbye. Then, he throws it to me.

"Will you take care of it for me?" he asks with a hopeful expression.

I can feel my heart pound against my chest. He wants me to remember him. How do I tell him that I always will?

For the first time in a very long time, I feel tears forming in my eyes. "I will, I promise."

He nods, smiling poignantly.

And then I know, that this is the last time I'll ever see him. I back away slowly, looking at him as though it'll make him stay.

I smile at him one last time and turn, heading for the stairs. Sometimes, there's a bigger plan for us than we had planned for ourselves.

He was a good part of it.