Every Planet We Reach is Dead – Chapter 1

I was sitting at a round table in the back of the bar, chair propped back on two legs and with mine crossed at the knees, blending perfectly into the background in a black long sleeved shirt and black skinnyjeans, my crystal necklace casting prisms on the walls. I usually don't dress like this, head to toe black, but tonight was different. I was here to drink away the last remaining memories I had of a certain someone. A sharp looking fellow was sitting across the room at the bar, and I was instantly intrigued.

I wasn't sure exactly who I was staring at. From behind, he looked familiar, too familiar, but he had common features and could have been anyone. Dark shaggy hair, long and lean, almost lanky.

But then he turned around, and instantly I knew. I stared, mouth agape, fuming cigarette dangling between my fingers.

Those large, dark eyes that became so familiar with years ago, turned to face me once again. Stuart.

He realized with a start who he locked eyes with, and quickly turned around, distracting himself with his empty shot glass. I noticed him peeping over his shoulder at me, discreetly trying to do what I had done moments before with a bold stare. I could tell he was glad to see me, but also afraid.

Because he remembered, just as well as I did, why we spent those two years apart.

I couldn't take his sheepishness anymore, so I stood up and walked to the bar where he was sitting and perched myself on a stool to the left of his. He hung his head and looked down, pretending I hadn't just appeared in the flesh less than two feet away from him after seeing neither hide nor hair of me for two years.

"Stu?" I said. It came out more like a statement, rather than a question. "Stuart Pott? Is that really you?"

He slowly turned to face me. "Ole' Stu-Pot," I confirmed.

"Yeah, it's me… Hiya," he said cautiously, as if he was afraid of my reaction. "I just stopped by to get a drink, never fancy you'd be here."

"I guess you could say I'm a regular now." It was embarrassing to admit, but I said it with slight confidence.

The bartender came by to pick up Stuart's empty glasses and wipe off the bar. "Yeah," he chimed in, "ever since some old chap dumped her on her ass and fled to England. Girl likes to drink when she's down. And she hasn't shut up about it since it happened."

My face flushed red and I tried to act natural, but Stuart caught on. The bartender walked off after noticing he had stuck his foot in his mouth.

"So, you're still sore from that, eh?" said Stuart, more like a statement. "I really apologize for that – its hard to, you know, see a girl when you're in the music business. So much travel and studio time, and its worse for me because of Mudz. Heh."

I grinned a little, because it's so true of Murdoc to be a controlling prick when he's starting a new project. But that didn't excuse the feelings I had inside, of being forgotten. It took a while to forget, most of the two years he was gone, but I was over it by now. Time heals, I guess.

We sat in awkward silence for what seemed like forever. And, unusual for a man of few words, Stuart broke the silence. He let out a huge sigh and started slowly.

"Actually, I knew you'd be here tonight. I came to see you."

"Is there something wrong?" I assumed.

"No, not wrong, exactly… but different. See, I… I had a lot of time for thinking while I was away, and well… I mostly thought about… well… you."

It seemed like all his effort and concentration went into keeping his voice from breaking as he said it. He was quite emotional. I had to admit that I did a lot of thinking about Stu, too. I used to fall asleep remembering our time together, just to end up in tears before entering dreams. But now maybe, just maybe, we could get back to where we left off, two years ago.

"About me?" I asked with slight disbelief. I didn't see how he could still care about me… but then, how could I still care about him? I guess it works both ways, and after that thought, I started to understand where he was coming from.

"Yes, I remember our lovely time in Manhattan while you were finishing school and all those walks in the park…" his eyes grew soft as he trailed off into some deeper recess in his mind, while staring into the recesses of my eyes. I stared back into his, dark and hollow, yet full of a fresh brimming emotion ready to overflow and run down the sides of his face. But he held it together. He was always good at that. So was I.

He put on a happier façade when he noticed the bartender walk by again.

"Howzabout we go out back for a smoke?" he asked with a smile. "Just the two of us."

He stood up from his stool and made his way to the back door, weaving through loud and rowdy crowds of drunken men fussing at a game on TV. I followed close behind.

It was a bit chilly outside, but not unbearable. Our breaths fogged as Stu fumbled in his pockets for the cigarettes. He knocked two out of the pack and passed one to me.

"You never smoked before I left for Manchester," he said. "Why now?"

"Well, that sort of thing changes people," I said slowly as I lit my cigarette. He understood what I meant.

"I never meant to change you," he explained. "I had planned on returning to Manhattan sooner, only after a few months, but Mudz got into it with the law and we had to delay recording and…"

"You don't have to explain, Stu," I said somberly. "I understand, things happen that we don't have much control over –"

"I missed you every day," he interrupted suddenly. "Every sunny day, every rainy day, every in-between day I thought of you, and how much it hurt me to leave you." He paused for a moment after this, emotionally exhausted.

"Oh, D," I sighed. And why did I start calling him that again?

"Heh, haven't heard that one in ages! I always loved that one, even though it's making fun of my eyes…" I gave a small giggle, and that contagious grin of his, with his missing front teeth, lit up his face. And that lit up mine. Just like yesterday, I thought. Like he never left.

I shivered a bit, and he noticed. He offered me his leather jacket, and I took it gratefully. It smelled just like him, like all my memories of him, like black tea with honey, and smoke. He placed his arm around my shoulders, and we started toward his car.

"Let me take you home," he said, finally deciding I wasn't as different as he thought I'd be.

"Well, I was actually going to ask if I could come over… to, you know… your place. Would that be alright?"

I looked up at him, and there was something in his eyes, but I couldn't quite tell. Something soft and assured and careful.

"I was hoping you'd ask," he said with a small smile.