Coward's War, Lover's Loss

                                  Coward's War, Lover's Loss

Five years, and the garden hadn't changed a bit. Roses alongside the path, a Hawthorn tree leaning over the gate, and a frozen pond shimmering like an enchanted mirror. I hadn't eaten all day, but I leapt over the gate like an athlete, and gave the doorbell a sharp tug. Nancy opened the door, and her eyes went wide with surprise.
“Tom! But you...” she faltered, leaning against the support of the door.
“I didn't. I... I left. Before the battle, I was scared.”
“You deserted?” she asked, horror in her face.
Butterflies rose in my stomach, churning it up worse than any Nazi gunner, “I wanted to be with you, I knew I'd die if I was in the attack, and-”
The sun was setting behind me, and its dying beams caused something on her hand to shimmer. I faltered.
“You're married?”
Tears decorated her cheeks like crystallised sorrow, and she nodded, “two years. His names Philip, he... took over your job after the war.”
She looked at me, and I realised how much the years had affected her features. Lines had burrowed their way into her once youthful face like trenches had infested Europe.
She began to sob, “I loved you Jack. You died a hero, they sent your Mother a little letter and everything, their condolences they couldn't recover your body for a funeral. She died Jack! She died because every other family had someone to bury, and all she had was a letter! I spent a year and a half crying, trying to work out why you were gone, and now you waltz in here and expect me to be your Juliet?”
My tounge was paralysed, frozen like the pond. She stared at me, her look colder than the air her voice permeated. “Get lost Jack. You might not have died saving your country, but everyone worth living did! Why did you come back? Why couldn't you just stay dead!” and with that she slammed the door, the tremors sending a shower of snow from the roof to greet my already frozen self. I turned around, opening the gate and taking a left. I didn't pause to say goodbye to the roses, the frozen pond, or any other part of that garden. It had said goodbye to me long ago.
My hand reached into my coat, touching the cold metal of my service revolver.

A little while later I pushed open the heavy door that barred my way, and walked into the bar. Two old men played cards in a corner, and a lone barman leant against his drinks cabinet. As I walked towards him his eyes filled with warmth, and he peeled himself away from the cabinet.
“And what can I get you today good sir?”
I perched myself on a stool, and savoured the warmth offered by the hearth to my side.
“A Whiskey, please. What else on a day like this?”
He smiled as he plucked a glass out, and turned to me with a cheery grin, “nothing like a bit of courage to warm you up on a day like this, aye?”
I studied the liquor as I lifted the glass up, and paused. “Nothing like it in the world.”
“What brings you to these parts? I don't believe I've seen your face around here before.”
“Life,” I said, slamming the glass down, “just life.”
We sat and talked for an hour or so, as the old men left and the barman grew weary, and my hand lay in my coat pocket. Finally, he decided it was time to close up. I got of the stool and went to pay him, but he shook his head.
“Forget it mate, drinks on me. Keeping me company was more than enough payment,” he said, that cheery grin returning to his face again. “I hope me meet again, aye... well, look at that, I never even asked your name!”
“Tom.” I replied, “Its Tom.”
He fumbled the key out of his pocket, and managed to secure the frozen door lock, then pressed his hand into mine. “Mines Phil, but don't let my wife hear you call me anything but Philip!”
One hand in my coat pocket, one hand in his. “I looked into his eyes, “Do you love your wife?”
He seemed confused, his eyes flicking down to his imprisoned hand. “Of course! Thats the idea ain't it?” He chuckled, that stupid grin breaking out like 1939. I let his hand drop.
“Then God bless your house. Maybe we'll meet again,” and with that we parted ways.

I walked into the hills that shadowed one side of the town, walking until I couldn't walk any further, my hand never leaving my pocket. I was a coward, I had deserted my comrades, the people I loved, and worst of all the ideals of my country. No amount of whiskey would change that. I finally removed my hand from my pocket.
I never expected Nancy to be my Juliet...
                                                                   But I can be her Romeo.