An Odd Comfort

"Ma'am, I didn't order anything," The man said having been stirred from his thoughts by the sound of a full mug placed next to him. His unkept hair shrouded his face in a veil of unwashed blond locks. The waitress looked back at him with a faint smile.

"You look like you need a drink," She said.

"I can't pay-"

"It's on the house," She said before disappearing in the swarm of drunken customers stumbling through the pub. He was left staring at crowd of jeering and swearing idiots bumping into each other. The pen slipped from his hand, turning his attention back to his unfinished poem. After the hours he had spent here, the leather bound journal had the grand total of one line written down. Staring at the scribbled words, he muttered to himself the wisdom he had inscribed followed with a sigh.

"What can one sing to a lost Melody?"

He slumped lower in his booth, resting his chin on his propped hand. His thumb began to brush at the gruff strands of a birthing beard as he wandered into thought. There seemed to be no way to capture what he felt in mere words. Closing his eyes, his mind began to repaint his memories now soaked in sadness. The room erupted in cheers and laughter, and he looked towards the ale that rested at his fingertips. Tempted, he tapped the mug as he watched the liquid toss like a crashing wave. Perhaps he just needed to stop thinking. The world of chaotic madness around him seemed hellbent on interrupting his sulking.

He took a gulp and nearly coughed. The drink was scalding and yet dreadfully frigid to the touch. He could feel the heat follow the flow of the drink until it rested at last in his gut. He forced his eyes to hold back tears and gingerly set down the drink. Whatever that was, was not any drink he was accustomed to. Almost as soon as he set down the drink, his mind felt as foggy as an overcast sky. His mood delve deeper into sorrow while remaining wrapped in a fuzzy peace as fragile as glass.

His world swirled into silence as the murmur muffled in this new numbness. Reality seemed to melt into blurred shapes and fade to solemn greyness. It would seem that nothing would distract him now. His brows furled at the thought. Did he want to think or did he come here to not think at all? Shrugging, his mind set off to wander yet again. He waited for memories to flood over him, and yet instead he was met with warmth much like the heat in his belly. Yet this new warmth enveloped him like summer's sun.

Gentle wind drifted through his hair and there seemed to be no weight to his movements. He opened his eyes to a sparkling sea below him and yet he glided above it. Glimpses of bronze feathers peaked around the corners of his vision. Icarus, he thought to himself, of course I'm Icarus. There he hovered above waves in somber sobriety of his situation.

"I am destined to rot in the sunlight?" he muttered. "I dare not test the heights, so drown me already if that must be my fate." Yet the waves did not answer his plea, nor did the sun burn any brighter. He would have been quite a sight to see. A disheveled man on golden wings with arms outstretched as if crucified by his ambitions, soaring between sun and sea. He knew well the story he now dreamt, and wished greatly to hurry to the end. He tucked in his wings, crossing his arms like a mummied pharaoh and fell from the sky. Like a coin fading into a wishing well, sunlight reflected off his amber winged coffin for but a moment before cold ocean devoured him.

He tumbled through the darkness deeper and deeper than the seabed could ever be. His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the abyss and his feet found ground to stand on. Dust and dirt grafted themselves onto his skin as they fell like a downpour from the mountain of a boulder than overshadowed him. His shoulders slumped further than they had before.

"Am I to suffer the punishment of Sisyphus?" He muttered. "I will sooner cut myself apart to prepare for Tartarus, than attempt such futility."

Silence overtook silence taunting his mind to look behind him. A haunting whisper of a familiar yet lost voice tempted his ears.

"I am not Orpheus," He said jutting forward his jaw. "I will not turn to see the one I left behind." He shut his eyes and felt tears run down his face. Then he felt a drop hit his head. Then a drop on his shoulder. And another on the tip of his nose.

It was raining as he stood on an abandoned street. The echo of high heels cut through the rainfall and he saw the shrinking figure of a woman walking away. Raven hair flowed behind her and bobbed with her steps. Her yellow coat glistened in the lamp light and the neon sign blinking pure white letters. She turned a corner and he shut his eyes desperately trying to forget. His soul sung her name in the shadows of his mind, but he dared not say anything at all.

"What can one sing to a lost Melody?"

"Beg Pardon?" A voice said dragging him back to reality. The pub was bustling and before him a waitress looked at him quite confused. Slinking further into his seat, he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.

"Nothing," He said. "Nothing at all." He looked away quickly and stared at his journal that remained barren of words save for one line. He peered into the mug to find that he had drained it clean of every last drop. He picked up his pen with one hand and hid his face from onlookers with the other. His open palm covered his complexion as his fingers pressed into the side of his forehead. People shuffled their way in and out of the place as he sat in his corner with his pen hovering over empty lines. He lowered his pen in defeat and dragged his hands over his face.

"There something I can do for you?" He looked up to see the waitress who had given him his free drink. He shrugged, hoping his lack of a true response would drive away any interest.

"We can all use someone to talk to," she said. Without waiting for his response, she took a seat across from him. She sat all proper with legs crossed and hands folded. "I got ten minutes, so you best start talking."

He shrugged again, not knowing quite what to do. The waitress sighed. After a moment of silence, she spoke up.

"Alright, we'll start off a little slower then." she said. "I'm Clarissa,"

She held out her hand. Not wanting to be rude, he reached out and shook her hand.

"Jay." He said.

"Ah, glad you found your voice." She said. "Now, who are Icarus, Sisyphus and Orpheus?" She asked. Jay blushed, realizing he must have been muttering his thoughts aloud. Clarissa gave a small laugh at his embarrassment, before asking him to please explain.

"It's Greek mythology," Jay said. "It's very relatable as all the stories end in tragedy and well... you can see why I may have mumbled a few things about them." Seeing Clarissa listening with great intent, he kept going.

"Icarus is the son of the great inventor Daedalus, and of course is the most well known of the three. Flew too close to the sun while wearing metal wings made by his father, thus he plummets to his death in the sea. Sisyphus was punished by the gods to push a boulder up a mountain for eternity, as before he gets to the top, the boulder falls all the way back to the start. Orpheus sung his way into Hades to convince the god of death to bring back his wife. Hades agrees as long as he doesn't look back before they exit the underworld. He looks back after he exits but its a moment before his wife has exited, thus she is returns to Hades and Orpheus loses her again." After he finished talking, he blushed again realizing how much he just said.

"Thank you for informing me," She said kindly. And they sat in silence for a while.

"Would you like to talk about her?" She said. Jay cocked his head.

"Well, It's always a man who goes and breaks my heart," she said. "Seems only fair a woman has gone and broke yours."

Jay finally figured out what was odd about this lady. Besides the obvious brashness, she didn't speak with pity at him nor disgust. She spoke kindly with both understanding and curiosity. It would seem that misery truly does love company, and sorrow somehow binds people together. So with a heart oddly comforted, he began to speak with honesty about the troubles of his heart.

"Her name was Melody."