It was snowing again when Rose found herself standing outside the local Boots looking at a rather odd man sitting on a bench. He was hunched over, brown hair hanging too long in his face. Despite the cold, his tweed jacket was folded in his hands, slightly sprinkled with snow. He looked up at her with his large eyes and she got the feeling that he was asking an entirely different question.
"Excuse me?" She said wrapping her coat tighter around her.
"Oh nothing. Never mind me, I'm just an old man on the road. Why would any normal person listen to me?" He looked at his hands, wringing them, either how to excitement or worry, she couldn't tell.
She looked at him long and hard, trying to figure out how she should respond. Usually she would disregard someone like him and go on her way, like he said, but something about the way he talked made her stop. His voice was quiet but hard, his words were simple but drawn out, making it seem like he was saying more than she understood.
"It depends what you describe as normal, I guess." She looked him over again, "Who are you?"
The man hinted at a smile, and leaned back, "Oh, I'm just a man that watches... Nobody important."
"You must be important to somebody. Don't you have anyone out there for you?"
"There's always somebody for everybody. But they were a long time ago. But enough about me," His voice changed, "What about you? Now I know you have someone." It was curious now, childlike. As if he was teasing a childhood friend.
Rose tucked a loose hair behind her ear and smiled,"Yeah. Yeah I do. He's supposed to be meeting me here, actually."
"That's nice. I bet he's nice. Does he, I mean you two, have a dog? I remember dogs. They were always so much fun. So small and... loud. Ah, I guess I don't like dogs anymore. Well, maybe if they're quiet and don't run off when I tell them to stay put I'll like them again. No one seems to understand 'don't move' anymore." The man stood up and looked straight at her, still wringing his hands, his jacket draped over one arm. "Though I guess no one ever really did."
And then he smiled. A wide smile that little boys give their friends when they know they're about to do something against the rules. A smile as if someone just handed him a sweet and told him that if he ate it he could control the world. A smile as if he was sharing some secret joke.
And she looked at this man, this tall scrawny man and looked at him. He was smiling with all the memories of a child but his eyes didn't fit. They held the memories of a someone much older. The more she looked, the more she got lost in them. She could feel that they were filled with questions with forgotten answers and answers with lost questions. They had seen so much and done so little. She couldn't help but thin of a friend she once knew and she felt herself drift a little into her own memories.
A touch on her back brought her out of her mind and she looked away. Next to her, John had appeared and was staring at the odd man.
"Oh hey. This is, um, I'm sorry I don't remember your name."
The man locked eyes with John, "That's because I never told you my name. At least not today I didn't. It's probably best to leave it like that." Then he turned, put on his coat and started to walk away.
"Wait, where are you going?" Rose felt John tense next to her.
The man stopped and peered his head over his shoulder, that mischievous look back on his face. "I've got a friend waiting for me who is need of repair. She can be very strange sometimes. All the time. I mustn't leave her alone for too long."
John turned to Rose, "Come on, we should get home before your mum gets annoyed."
Rose was reluctant but nodded and turned to follow John. "Strange man. You don't see anyone like that anymore."
"Well," John said in his typical John way, "Unless you count children."
Rose laughed, "That's not it. I meant his eyes. They sort of reminded me of yours but older."
John hesitated before answering. When he did, his voice was reluctant, "That's because they are mine. Rose... That was him."
Rose stopped moving. Her legs tensed and her brain focused for the first time since the days when she used to wait. Her ears heard every sound and her eyes darted in search of anything that was different, anything off. Not a single thing didn't go unnoticed. Not the flickering light, or the rubbish down the road or the way John was looking at her, worried. And then she heard it. The sound of heavy wind through old trees echoed from behind her.
She turned and ran to the end of the street. She didn't know where the sound was coming from but her muscles were controlled by memories instead of thought. She turned right. Her feet weren't even touching the ground. Down a left alley and she was greeted by a dead end. By nothing. Nothing but a few rubbish bins and a disappearing shadow.
Staring at the spot where a last blueish glow had faded, she couldn't help but think about those eyes. They'd grown so old since she last saw them. How many more worlds had he seen burn? Those poor, tired eyes that no matter how much good they did, they still couldn't forget. How could she have not recognized those eyes? The body had changed again but the eyes were still the same. How could she have not?
She felt John press up against her back. The answer was simple. They had more hurt, more sadness. Though, didn't she learn from him that to be sad, you must be happy first? So he had found more to love. Good for him.