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"I have something to share..." The Captain's grip on his stick got imperceptibly tighter. Why had I said that?
All eyes moved to him causing heat to burn under his collar. Alison smiled reassuringly at him but he couldn't maintain eye contact and instead dropped his eyes to the wooden floorboards.
"Well, you see, I ummm..." He stumbled.
"Go on," Encouraged Alison. Everyone was still and silent which wouldn’t usually be considered a feat unless you know the group.
If he were alive the sweat would have beaded on his forehead, luckily, he no longer had that tell. He steadied himself with a breath, "Well, you see, I..."
--1911--
He instantly knew he had made a mistake when he felt the hands of his friend shove against his chest. His eyes snapped open. James had misinterpreted his friend's closeness and touches for more than they were... or perhaps, more than his friend was willing to admit.
"Hey! What is that about?!"
"I just- I didn't. I'm sorry." There was a sharp stinging as tears welled up in his eyes, "I think my mother wanted me home by now." The young boy lied as he pushed himself out of the tree house and began running towards the garden fence. He knew he had to get out before this could escalate.
He had feelings that he couldn't explain. Why was he different from Johnny or Timmy from down the road? Why did the other boys in school give him a wide berth?
His friend watched him leave and James knew he would never be invited back.
--1919--
The young man could already feel the bruises forming under the skin, that throbbing ache that stabs to touch. He ought to be concerned about a cracked skull or concussion, but the priority was survival. He had been here before- he knew what to do and remained tucked in a ball.
He could still hear the other boys sniggering and sneering down at him.
"Serves him right for being a queer!" One of them spat viciously.
James moved to cover his head again, but his reflexes were dulled by the beating and another person landed a clear stomp against the back of his skull. A gasp of pain slipped from between his lips.
"Look at one of us again and we'll finish the job next time!" A blow to the guts accompanied the words.
He coughed and bright red blood splattered onto the paving stones. They were cold against his face but it felt nice against the warmth of his inflamed cheek.
His eyes were swollen so he didn't see the gang of lads leave but he could hear the soles of their shoes slapping against the paving. Letting out a large breath of air, his ribs screamed in protest.
Their words echoed in his head and he whispered to himself, “It’s what you deserve.”
He could feel himself slipping away and, in that moment, he did not care whether he would re-awaken.
--1939--
His name was Peters and they had met during basic training. Their eyes caught in the mess and they both had a similar seriousness that complimented each other. Peters had an extra quirk of playfulness that lightened James and encouraged him out of his shell.
Nothing happened but their long talks and walks around base was enough to raise both eyebrows and suspicions. A quiet type of friendship that was uncommon amongst the boisterous banter of the other soldiers.
It was a Monday and he settled down in the refectory with his meal. His eyes darted up every time a person entered the room. More than one glanced over at him with pitiful eyes. James’ stomach sank the longer he waited. They all knew something that he, clearly, did not.
Sometime later he beelined for his commander for answers.
"Enter!" The major barked from inside his office.
James peeked around the door.
Major gave a weak smile, "Come in, son. Shut the door."
Peters had been transferred away. For the greater good of the unit and for James…apparently.
"Look, son. You can feel however but you can't let them see." The words were quiet, but the Major's meaning was clear. He was not a cruel man and his decision to transfer Peters reflected that.
The soldier nodded and left with a newly acquired stiff upper lip.
--1940--
The letter, despite being no more than a few pages of paper, felt like heavy lead in his hand. He was creasing the paper with the strength of his grip.
The Captain felt like he had broken out of a stupor just in time to hear Havers say, "It's North Africa, Sir. I'll be able to have a proper swing at Fritz!"
He swallowed and tried to shake up an enthusiastic expression. Stiff upper lip, James. Tucking the letter in his pocket, he congratulated his lieutenant. Havers had always been the ideal soldier, better than himself without doubt.
He reminded himself of his position and the unprofessionalism he nearly committed. He had allowed himself once again to forget what he was and the difference between him and the other men.
“Sir?” Havers had been stood for some time with no response.
James coughed, snapping himself out of his own head, “Rightly so! Give old Fritz what they deserve- A bally great thrashing.”
Havers smiled and glanced out of the large windows. It reminded the Captain exactly why he admired this man; his gentle strength and power. Everything he aspired to be.
“Thank you, Captain… for everything.”
There was so much he could say and so much that he wanted to say. Instead, he saluted his lieutenant and watched as the man gave a sad smile and turned on the spot to leave. James knew he would always regret the words he left unsaid and that they would haunt him forever.
"Well, you see, I..." he snapped back into his body as though he hadn’t just re-lived 30 years of his life. A compilation of all his lowest points. Had I learnt nothing all those years? The Captain’s eyes darted over to Alison’s. Hopeful eyes settled behind a concerned brow and slightly open mouth.
He had too much to lose here.
“I was going to say, it must be Fanny’s turn to pick the film tonight.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind he picked up on the group’s almost imperceptible exhale of breath. Over time he would go back to that moment and replay how the group had gone still as statues as he stuttered over his sentence.
Julian began to protest at the absolute drivel Fanny would select for the TV which ignited a riot amongst them all. Thomas claiming that they had missed his turn and Pat chiming in to defend Fanny’s choices.
The Captain glanced down at those floorboards which he had known for close to 80 years and reminded himself who he was with. Amidst the chaos, he looked up to see that Alison was still watching him with a gentle, knowing smile and a kind sympathy in her eyes. He smiled back and nodded to her in acknowledgement.
Next time, he knew he would be ready and for the first time in his life, and death, he knew he would be accepted with open arms.