How The War Began

Two men are walking down the street.

        The first man asks a question but the second man doesn’t know the answer. He doesn’t want to admit this, so he pretends he didn’t hear what was asked. Against his hope, the first man asks the question again. A little louder. A little more emphasis on the important points.

        Now the second man faces a dilemma. He weighs up his options and sees that he has two choices:

1.    Admit he doesn’t know the answer

2.    Guess

He chooses option number two and gives an answer he thinks seems believable. He hopes it will be left at that. He hopes they can move on.

The two men continue walking for a while. But the first man is troubled.

        “Are you sure about that?” he asks.

        “I’m sure,” says the second man because he doesn’t feel he can back down.

        The first man nods. The second man smiles. But beneath the smile is uncertainty, and hidden within the first man’s nod is doubt.

        The two men walk together, but each is alone with his thoughts. The first is mulling over the answer to his question. He is not sure about it. Something about it troubles him. The second man is not happy with the answer he gave, but he can’t take it back now. He hopes that it won’t be brought up again and that they can move on.

        “It’s very hot today,” says the second man, because he feels the need to say something.

        “It is,” says the first man, but he doesn’t really think so. It doesn’t seem hotter than any other day. In fact, he thinks it might rain. He wonders why someone would bother to mention the weather when it is no different from any other recent day. Arguably, it’s slightly cooler. He looks at the second man out of the corner of his eye and wonders. When the second man looks his way, he quickly looks elsewhere.

        The second man is not sure about this walking in silence. It doesn’t seem natural to him. He’s sure they never used to walk in silence. They always had something to say. Like so often these days, he wants to have a cigarette. He feels that this would help. They used to exchange cigarettes and lights. Smoking was such a great way to strike up a conversation. He’d used it to break the ice with many a young lady back in the day. They both had. They’d hit the bars and the clubs together at the weekends and they’d been in each others’ corners in so many scrapes. The stories they could each tell. Only they weren’t telling them. They weren’t reminiscing. Even earlier, over lunch, the conversation had been rudimentary. They hadn’t sat and laughed, as they always had in the past. That was how he always thought of them: laughing together. Whether at something in the moment, or at a memory they shared. Today, it had all been about health, and the family, and other such nothings. No. Not nothing. That isn’t fair. But still… What could he say now? What past event could he bring up? If only he had a cigarette… 

The first man is watching the second again. He wonders at the smile and what it could mean. This morning, as he had his breakfast, he’d been looking forward to this. To the chance to catch up. Now, he’s wondering why he bothered to come. He could have just stayed at home. He could be relaxing there right now, with his feet up and a cold drink in his hand. There was something missing here, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He pauses for a moment.

The second man stops walking a step, maybe two further on and turns back. “Are you ok?” he asks.

The first man waves a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing,” he says.

The second man nods. He doesn’t ask anything else. His colleague was always the daydreamer. Always drifting away. It doesn’t seem likely he’d change now in that respect.

As he stands there, looking off to the side, the first man notices that he’s stopped outside a dental surgery. The door is large and white and the building is set back slightly from the pavement, and from the buildings on either side of it. There is a waist high concrete wall along the pavement, creating a small courtyard. He doesn’t know why this has struck him as interesting, but he looks at the door, at the large round windows either side of it, and he feels lost.

“Do you remember when that place was a bar?” the second man asks him.

Coming out of his reverie with a start, the first man turns to him and speaks without thinking about it. “Of course,” he says. “Of course I do.”

“Yes,” says the second man. “Things have changed.”

“Yes,” agrees the first man. “They have.”

“But we’re still here to see it, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” says the first man. “We are.”

Still neither of them have moved.

“There used to be tables outside,” says the second man.

“Pardon.”

“The bar that was hear, it had tables outside,” says the second man, pointing into the courtyard. “What was the name of that bar?”

The first man shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now,” he says. “It’s gone.”

The second man nods his head but doesn’t say anything.

They continue to walk.     

The two men come to a junction. Cars go past and others wait. Both men are already in a different place, at a different time, thinking about things which are not here and do not involve each other.

“My car’s parked over there,” says the first man, pointing down the road to their right.

        “Mine’s round the next corner,” the second man tells him, indicating a bend in the road ahead.

        The two men shake hands and wish each other well.

        “It was good to see you,” says one of them (it doesn’t matter which).

        “It was,” the other agrees. “We shouldn’t leave it so long next time.”

        “Agreed.”

        They part ways on the corner and neither looks back. Not ever.