Another Try

The autumn wind shifted, bringing the smell of rain.

               “Is she here yet?” Mustafa asked. He fidgeted with his hands. Thomas knew he was itching for his pencil.       

               “Why, are you nervous? I’m the one who’s got to talk to her. You’re just moral support” Thomas said. He put on a quick smile and smacked Mustafa on the back. But it was a bit too rough, and he was too thin for his own good. As much as Thomas tried not to admit it, Mustafa was the stereotypical idea of an author. Too thin, pale, and a bit more than socially awkward. Thomas found himself wondering again how they became best friends.

               “You’re wondering what she’ll wear,” Mustafa said.

               “It’s not a date. Why would I be thinking about what she’ll wear?” Thomas said in a half-joking voice. They both knew that was exactly what he was thinking about. Thomas was the opposite of Mustafa. He was charismatic, bold, and took what he wanted when he wanted it.

               The sound of heels clicking on the concrete alerted them both from the bench they sat at.

               A ways away a figure in a smart black suit looked across the water. The pond emanated an orange glow from the setting sun. She leaned against the rail lining the pond. Tall glass buildings seemed to reflect light towards the water, casting an ethereal glow on her.

               Thomas stood, then hesitated.

               “Morgan is here. How will I know what to say?” He asked in a low whisper.        

               Mustafa didn’t answer.

               Five breaths later and there he was with her. They exchanged awkward conversation until she said,

               “So why did you ask to meet? Was it just to feel the breeze?”

               “I like you.”

               A small chuckle escaped her throat.

               “What, as in the fifth grade you like me?”

               “I, I mean like like you.” Thomas hesitated yet again. “I mean. It’s just. We’ve been co-workers for a while. And I think we’ve gotten along great in the past few weeks. I couldn’t exactly talk to you like this at work.” He rambled on about work for some reason and hated every second of it. “All I’m saying is I think you’re amazing.”

               She stepped back.

               Thomas clenched a fist. A warm smile spread across her face.

               “You know Thomas, I came here for a reason. And it wasn’t just to meet you, though that was a part of it.”

               Thomas felt a bit of hope well up in his chest.

               “But it seems I didn’t find it. Thank you for inviting me here. It was nice to get out of the office. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

               Thomas felt a cold formality rise between them.

               He stuck out his hand, and she shook it.

               Thomas stood there as she walked away, the click of her heels an echo in the wind.

               A hand on his shoulder.

               “I wish things had gone differently.” Mustafa said. Thomas thought maybe they weren’t so different after all.

               “Why do you care?” Mustafa looked away and dropped his hand at the bitter tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Thomas said. “I wish things had gone differently.” A spark in Mustafa’s eye.

               “Do you truly wish that, Tom?” Mustafa asked.

               Thomas looked to where the street led off into the road she’d disappeared down.

               “Understood,” Mustafa said.

               Thomas felt a different cold.

               The autumn wind shifted bringing the scent of rain.

               “Don’t tell her how you feel, tell her what she wants to hear.” Mustafa said. She’d just arrived and Thomas was beginning to doubt himself.

               “That makes no sense. I’m supposed to be telling her how I feel.”

               “Trust me. You’re doubting the words you’ll say. So just say the right ones.”

               Thomas always thought the two of them different. Stark opposites. But it was times like these that their thinking felt eerily familiar. It comes with having a best friend, Thomas supposed.

               Thomas stood from the bench and walked up to her.

               “Beautiful view, isn’t it?” Thomas said as he leaned against the railing.

               “It is. I’ve always wondered if the city made nature less beautiful or more. At times like these I think I’ve found the answer. But then I go and wonder all over again.” She let out a nervous laugh. “But you didn’t bring me here to talk about the scenery, did you?”

               “Maybe I did.” Thomas said with a smile and looked into her eyes. Her gaze made his charm falter only for a second. “Maybe I just want to hear you talk more.”

               An awkward smile spread across her face.

               “You’re different at work, aren’t you?” She stepped back. “I suppose it was naïve of me to think that I’d find the same Thomas from accounting. Something of a charmer, are you?”

               He messed with his hair in a casual but attractive way that had gotten him many dates before.

               “Something like that.”

               “it was nice to get out of the office. See you tomorrow.”

               By the time he dropped the façade she was already walking away.

               “Wait,” he said but the wind took it away.

               “You can do better,” a voice from behind him.

               Thomas whipped around,    

               “Oh shut up. You told me to—.”

               The autumn wind shifted, bringing the scent of rain.

               “Be genuine but keep her here. You’ll think of something,” Mustafa said to Thomas as he walked away. For some reason he couldn’t quite pin, Thomas felt a bitterness towards Mustafa. It evaporated away as he approached Morgan.

               From the bench Mustafa watched as Thomas approached her. They exchanged awkward conversation, but Thomas brought them ice cream and the silence was filled with bites of it.

               They stood close together watching the sun set and the water ripple. Clouds darkened as rain approached.

               “It’s always fun talking to you.” Thomas said. He felt foolish for being nervous standing next to her, but her laughter made the tension slip away.

               “It is, isn’t it?” She said and nudged him with an arm. “But it’s back to the real world tomorrow.”

               Thomas had to say something, or this was all for nothing.

               Mustafa noticed the moment in which she froze. Her posture tightened and the professional air she always seemed to carry with her returned. She stood. Thomas began to stand but she motioned otherwise with her hand and so in an awkward half-standing half-sitting motion Thomas sat back down.

               She walked away again.

               “Why does this keep happening?” Thomas asked Mustafa.

               “I don’t know.”

               “Why do I listen to you.” Thomas said, running his hand through his hair in agitation, making his face lift up in an odd expression. “You can’t even talk to women.”

               “Do you want my help or not?”

               Thomas scoffed at him then turned away.

               “I’m sorry.” Thomas said. “I don’t know why I’m mad at you. I just feel—,”

               “Like you’ve done this a hundred times.”

               “Yes exactly.”

               The autumn wind shifted, bringing the smell of rain.

               Mustafa stood up too quickly from the bench.

               “Are you okay?” Thomas asked. “Look she’s right there. Think of something I should say.” A familiar panicked expression plagued Mustafa’s face. Then something clicked in Thomas’ mind.

               “Why do I feel like I’ve done this a hundred times?”

               The autumn wind shifted, bringing the smell of rain.

               Mustafa’s hands fidgeted, almost as if he was ready to reach for a weapon.     

               “She’s right there.” Thomas said. He felt the sharpest sense of déjà vu. He almost asked for advice but stopped. “Mustafa, what’s happening. I’ve done this already, haven’t I?”

               Mustafa slowly backed away.

               “Why?”

               “Why what?”

               “Why do you know?” Thomas was puzzled. Was he having another panic attack? He tried to make sense of the situation and said, “Just breathe. I’m here with you.”

Then Mustafa’s face changed to one of surprise.

               “What is this?” It was Morgan. She was behind Thomas.

               “Morgan! Hello! Thanks for coming. This is my friend Mustafa.”

               “You’re not real.” Mustafa blurted out.

               “He’s not normally like this. Just go back and I’ll meet you in a second, okay?” She looked at Mustafa with a scrutinizing gaze but backed away.

               “How does she know?” Mustafa whispered to himself.    

               Thomas gripped Mustafa’s collar,

               “What are you doing?” Thomas felt bottled up anger chew his insides. “For some reason I don’t think you’re crazy. Now tell me what is going on so I can go confess to this girl. You’re supposed to be helping me here!”

               Mustafa’s breathing slowed, his voice becoming solemn.

               “You’re not real. You’re a character.” For a moment, silence. Then Thomas laughed. He actually laughed and worried for a moment if Morgan would think him insane too.

               “I’ve got someone to talk to. Take yourself home, Mustafa.” He walked away.

               “You feel like you’ll never find the right words.” Thomas stopped but didn’t look back. "When you were a kid, you always said the right thing. It came naturally. You always felt assured of yourself. Never sympathizing with someone like me. But like me you feel this moment can’t be ruined. It’s the end of your story. It must be perfect.”

               Thomas breathed in and out.

               He looked at Mustafa.

               “You’re wrong. You’re probably clinically insane and once this is over we’re going to have a serious discussion. But let me tell you this.” He walked up to Mustafa and put a hand on his shoulder. With his other hand he pointed at him and said,

               “I’m more than the sum of my story. And that woman over there means everything to me. Now I may not have the perfect words, and I may be an over-confident fool. But I’m me. Nothing can take that away. Not you. Not anyone.” Thomas felt a piece of him come together.

               Mustafa watched as Thomas and Morgan spoke.

               There was something different yet same about Thomas. They spoke for hours, leaning against the rain till the sun had gone down and rain started to pour. Neither of them moved, only exchanging the words they were always meant to say to each other.

               Whenever Thomas went back to the bench, he didn’t find anyone. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember why he’d even gone back to the bench in the first place. But he had a feeling that broken pieces were repaired that day, and so he left it at that.