We're so Different

"If you want to put that to the test let me know. I’m here most days.”

It’s been a long time. I don’t know whether to say sorry or you’re welcome. Maybe this is a little self-indulgent, but I thought I’d let you know what I’ve been up to. Don’t worry, I’ve also got a new short story for you.

The last time you heard from me, I’d just set off on a tour of Central Europe. First, a weekend in Prague, then twenty hours in Vienna, and finally three weeks in Hungary. I’m not the first, nor will I be the last to say that Central Europe is incredibly pretty. It’s everything a budding novelist needs to get his creativity flowing.

Unfortunately, while I was inspired last month, I couldn't find the time to write. If any of you write, you’ll know that’s an awful excuse. Weddings, catching up with friends, Euro 2024 (it didn’t come home…), and boiling temperatures all conspired against me, and I lost that battle.

But I’ve been itching to write since I returned in July. And I have been writing, A LOT. Just not stories.

This year I’m working on a short story collection, which I want to release now, but it’ll probably come out in the autumn. So, I’ll be focusing on fleshing out and editing some of my existing favourites.

Now for today’s short story… I have a feeling it is missing something. You tell me what? But, for the sake of momentum, I needed to try something.

Prostitute and pilot, they didn’t know each other, nor did they know what the other did. All they knew, when they sat next to each other in a busy café, was that it was raining, they’d both been soaked and that they both ordered the same thing: a double espresso. 

The café was a copy and paste type of place. Polished concrete floors, mismatched tables and chairs, the likes of which used to belong to a school. Two tall, skinny boys made coffee on the other side of the bar with a precision they never achieved in school. It’s warm inside, the windows stream with condensation and the air hums with conversation and cascading rain. 

The prostitute, let’s call her Julia, hadn't been working the night before, nor was she tonight. It was one of her free weeks, with which she tried to squeeze all she could from life’s bitter flesh. An old book, with yellowing pages and a broken spine lay in front of her, her espresso to the left of it. She has always enjoyed reading. It was what got her through school and in some way what led her to her profession. Such an ambitious girl, with adventures, drama and romance flooding her thoughts could never settle down and work in an office. She was the most interesting character, and she wasn’t going to let herself lead an unworthy life. 

The Pilot, let’s call him James, had just returned from a week-long trip to South East Asia. He always came here after a long week away; it reminded him of home. Although for James, most of his hours were spent in his cockpit. Nevertheless, this caffeinating refuge at the end of his street felt like home. He understood the language without trying, the food was similar if not spectacular and so were the faces sitting around him. He had his phone planted in front of him and scrolled listlessly through emails trying not to look lonely. But he was, he has been all his life. It’s the reason he’s dedicated his youth to flying. Above the clouds at thirty thousand feet he doesn’t feel the emptiness that widens in his chest every time he lands. 

White charging wires snake their way through a maze of laptops, notebooks and half drunk cups of coffee to reach the plug. Sooner or later one would tangle with a full cup and send a wave of hot coffee across someone's keyboard. Julia picked up her book and opened it in the middle where her bookmark waited. It was yet another fantasy with spells and dimensions; a place which offered a complete and comprehensive escape. But sat between the pilot and another woman typing furiously on her laptop, she couldn’t find her focus. She’d always been easily distracted. Nothing could get in the way once she got going, but starting had always been the tricky part. 

Julia starts glancing around the room, watching the tall skinny duo behind the bar. She grins as they took extra time listening to the order from a group of girls a couple years younger than them. None of them are far removed from school. The boys have black hair lining their jawline trying to add some experience to their innocent faces. The girls were bursting with the misplaced confidence that accompanies smooth skin and sensual silhouettes. She recongised herself in the way they tucked their brown hair behind their ears and peered delicately through their brows. She almost laughs at the predictability of their exchange; the light teasing, blushing cheeks, restrained laughing. They’re playing a game of hide and seek, or is it show and tell?  

Then out of the corner of her eye she catches the subject line of an email. AliceSprings -  New Message. 

Contrary to popular belief, Jame’s pilot status hasn’t bestowed him with charm and continental confidence. Deep down he’s the same nervous boy, who couldn’t bring himself to ask his friends to ask out the girl he liked. Among his peers he constructed a facade that made him appear mysterious, but that’s easy to do when you move from place to place, working with this crew then that. On the ground, to the people around him now he was different, not worse or better but another plain face that wandered in from the street. Just another smile hiding what it needs to. 

James hovered his thumb over the email from AliceSprings. He knew what it would be, these messages were always the same. Nevertheless, he wanted to see. Nowadays, these are the only messages he gets. 

Julia kept half an eye on the pilot's screen. Although she still doesn’t know what the man next to her does, she’s getting a sense of what he might be like. These are the types of men that come to see her. He’s one of those busy types that can never find time for a real relationship, but always manages to squeeze in a transaction every couple of weeks. She picks up her book again, reads the first paragraph, then forgets it. The pilot's phone screen catches her eye once again, this time he’s typing. She keeps her thumb buried between the pages, pressing against the already broken spin. 

I’m good, how are you? He asks and she can’t sympathize. Someone like that, whose muddled-mind confuses reality with retail, is an easy target. If she wanted she could take thousands from him. All it would take is a soft introduction and a softer touch on the arm. 

James looks up from his screen, sensing an intrusion. But as he raises his head, Julai turns her’s and he’s none the wiser. Her thumb is still pressed against the spin of her book, turning her thumbnail white. James casts his eyes over the page. She’s reading Virgil’s Aeneid, the story of Rome’s foundation. He remembers it from university, back when he wore a different facade and wonders what the woman next to him is really like. Is she the type who gulps down the classics like they’re the only things that matter in the world? Or is she, like him, pretending, trying to fool herself into believing she’s someone better than who she actually is. 

“That’s a good one,” the pilot says, slipping his phone into his pocket. Julia’s taken back by his voice. She’d fooled herself into believing he was a man who wouldn’t dare. 

“It is. Have you read it?”

“A long time ago.” 

“And, what did you think?” She says, finding his eyes and holding them with her glare. 

“Romance, adventure, war, gods, what is there not to like?” 

“I can think of three.” James smiles, his phone buzzes in his pocket and his hand reaches for it but lands short hovering over his thigh. 

“Alice?” Julia asks, not hesitating a moment. 

“Sorry?” James says, not because he didn’t hear, but because he’d never had someone ask so confidently before.

“You glanced at my book, I did the same with your phone. But don’t worry, I didn’t see anything exciting.” 

“Ha,” James starts, drowning in his thoughts, turning a little red in his cheeks. “I don’t do it all the time. But I travel a lot and can never find the time to meet people ‘normally’” 

“‘Normally’ doesn’t exist. And besides, it's harmless fun. If you knew how I met people you’d never look at me the same.” 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“If you want to put that to the test let me know. I’m here most days.” Julia said, placing a hand on his thigh before standing up, straightening her skirt and leaving. Walking past the tall boys and the girls hanging around them at the end of the bar she didn’t know why she had done that. As she opened the door, stepping into the rain, she looked over her shoulder. At the back, through a crowd of facades she saw the pilot, his imagination taking flight. 

James sat stunned for a few minutes. His peace, or rather his hypnosis broken by a dropped plate. He reached for his phone again. One new message. In his head, he heard Julia asking her blunt question. Then he thought of her, wondering if he’d seen her before. He was sure he hadn’t, her face felt foreign, as the destinations he flew to no longer did. 

---

Love, Luke

PS, my novel - Love, Loss & the View from my Window - is still available to purchase as a paperback and on Kindle.

Here’s what people are saying…

“The author vividly portrays the frustrations of an elderly lady battling dementia and a young man haunted by grief and trauma. The author uses evocative words to paint a picture of the characters, and makes you really care about them. Even though the story goes a little slow, it's perfect for people who are able to appreciate a slow burn. The short chapters make it easy to pick up and read whenever you have a minute!”