JULY

I was going to die.

I knew from the moment I my laid eyes on him, I was fucked. Truly, deeply, fucked. His sweet eyes, soulful smile. It was the beginning of the end–for me, and the rest of the crew. We had just gotten the news that we'd be let early from being stationed in Germany for the better part of the year.

In that one year alone, I never felt more alive as I did then.

Cheers from the boys boomed the stuffed, crammed  bunkers we were sleeping in when we had the little chance of peace. The rumble of everyone's collective laughs and boisterous celebrations vibrated the rock-hard cement floor. It was like an earthquake of hope.

Of peace. Of freedom.

"Come on boys, we're going out!" called out of one of my crew mates, Lewis. He through his dirty, green baseball cap on the grime-covered floor.

We'd get to leave in a week time. What Lieutenant failed to mention was we had one more job to do before we could leave; before our service was over.

I thought about all the men that stayed for longer than the newer recruits. Some of them stayed for two, three years before they could hear the words "welcome home."

I was one of them. I had been stationed for years before Lieutenant McCarthy said we were finally dismissed, two years later.

"You comin'?" he and I were the last men in the bunker. Wally's smile that night was as bright as Venus. I grabbed his hand, he pulled me up. He was one of the only Americans in the crew, having been living in the United Kingdom for some time just before the War.

"Where are we going?" I asked, shyness creeping up in my tone. I dusted myself off and grabbed my coat, tossing him his right after. I flashed myself a look in only mirror we had in the bunker. I was sharing a space with eight other men. Wally took his side by me, fixing his hair with a cigarette in his mouth. He scooped up hair gel and stylish ran his fingers through his golden hair.

I tore my eyes away, and he laughed. "You know," he said oh-so casually, obvious triumph in the way he carried himself, "you'd look real nice with hair gel. Slicked -back hair. The girl's would go crazy for it."

"I'm not here to be fancy, nor fancy anyone, especially a  girl," I responded, shutting him out completely.

"You don't...?"

A shudder ran through my body, utter bliss and clarity ripped my being. I swallowed hard, covering up my hesitation to answer with a clear of my throat. I fixed my jacket, my eyes dropping to his fingers that covered the top of the container of hair gel. I met his eyes. "Where are we going?" I asked again, having the need to repeat myself.

"Uh, home?" Wally answered, missing the mark completely.

"Wally."

"What's a recluse like you doing in the army?" He asked, ignoring my question.

"Wallace."

I touched his hand as he was putting away the container on the shelf. He gave me a sideways glance. It felt like the whole world stopped. It was just the two of us in that moment, staring into each other's eyes, never to return again.

"To a bar. A good one. We deserve it, don't we?" he finally answered, earnest.

I sighed. "Yeah," I said, trying to sound like i cared enough to go out. I should've been happier, more grateful, but I wasn't.

I wasn't humble then, and I completely regret it.

"Did you," Wally hesitated, "did you want the hair gel?" a cheeky smile peaked at the corners of his lips. The bunker was lit by a dim, fizzling-out oil lamp. I incidentally took his features in like I was drunk my likeness towards him. He'd been the only person in the entire team to give a shit about others and himself. It was a rare sight to bear.

I nodded, slowly, as if unsure (I was cut off guard), then fast, because I knew that he knew, even if neither of us admitted it. "Yeah, please."

God, if I could reach out and touch his hair one last time again, stealing one last lingering, warm touch from his fingertips.

I fixed my hair, he offered me a cigarette. I refused. It was one thing to accept hair gel, but another to smoke. I already practiced intent. The air was covered in gunpowder, it was hard to escape the smell and feeling.

It was a chill night in the summer of '52, and my crew and I were tasting freedom that was long overdue.

"You know," I said, drawling on my words, "I'd never thought I'd get to see the sun."

"Yeah?"

I kicked a rock. "The sunset's beautiful today, don't you think?"

Wally looked out, heaving out a breathless, calm sigh. "Isn't it always?"

When he turned to look at me, my heart stopped a beat.

I was going to die if I didn't kiss him then and there.

Fuck the crowded streets.

And fuck the military.

I pushed a smile, biting tongue. "Mmm-hmm."

"Oi, doc and soldier–get a move on, you two!" Lewis called from up the street, hooting and hollering filled the street.

Wally and I shared a glance, and my smile bloomed into something real. Something genuine.

He laughed, and I fell prey to laugh with him. We assembled with the rest of the boys on the desolate road at sunrise.

I never was much of a drinker. In part, because I saw as a kid what it could do to people. My father was a drunk for some time when he came back, discharged and all. H e was labeled and paraded as a hero of war. All i saw was a decaying man, who was taking acting title as papa.

He was no man, much less a father.

Because a father wouldn't leave his two helpless children with a woman who could barely stand the sight of us.

But that day I thought, why not? You only live once, and I wanted so desperately to tether myself to the moment of solace I had.

The serenity that blinded us for a good part of a week. I thought drinking could allow me to bottle up the feelings; happiness, sadness, anger, grief, homesickness.

If I could have happiness in a bottle, I'd never want to drink again. I feared that I wouldn't get to have a taste of it ever again.

But I was twenty-three, broke, and in need of a good, hardy laugh.

No one needed a good laugh like the truly, deeply, fucked.

And oh boy, we were all fucked. (I wasn't referring to hangovers).

Upon entering the bar, to our collective surprise, it was packed to the brim. The spacious, yet crammed area was decorated out with flashing strobe lights and a gigantic, gleaming disco ball at the center of the room. Towards the wall that faced the door stationed a small, but generous stage. Live music played from a man who looked to be a little older than me at the time.

With his jet-black, curly hair, deep, brown skin and gentle eyes, it wasn't hard to get lost in his melodic voice as he sung up on that shabby stage, half-broken mic and all. He wore a pink suit to match. He was lean and slim, adding to his layer of mystique. Strange, but times were changing.

And I must admit, it was one dapper looking suit.

"I didn't expect it to be this crowded," I told Wally, who was far lost in the music that I suspected he didn't even register what I was saying.

I caught the attention of Lewis, who, in his true pompous ass fashion, whistled at us. I'll never forget the look on his face, especially that stupid, floppy grin he always sported when he was happy. "Oi!" he hollered.

Wally looked over my shoulder, sharing the same look they all had. I turned around, patted my hair as if I was attempting to fix it, and stepped aside so Wally went first and I followed after.

They had secured a booth for the eight of us. Neat.

"It's real cool that, uh, you grabbed us a show," wally grinned, his blond hair shining against the light. His cheeks tinge pink. Dimples.

A show? What show?

I pulled two extra chair for the booth for Wally and me. I sat.

"I saw an ad," confessed Lewis.

"Oh, he's famous back home," Wally said gleefully. "He's a one-of-a-kind performer."

Who?

I feigned a listen. It was better than asking too many questions and interrupting the flow of conversation.

One of the other crew mates, Chuck, laughed so hard it rattled the table. He was a decently large man, large limbs and ample in the height department. He radiated the kind of aura that resembled much of a dog. He was nice, decent. He was the only one in the entire ensemble to have been married. Him and his wife had tied the knot right before his deployment. I was at his wedding–at the courthouse. "Oh, I know," he said, patting Wally on the shoulder. "My woman loves him, more than me I'd say."

They laughed. I could only smile in return.

"I met him once," said Wally. "He's a merry fella, so I don't blame Clarisse one bit." he grinned.

The group hollered, and one by one, each of us went to the bar to order. I never left my seat, instead just watched as the rest of them mingled. I preferred to stick by the sidelines.

Soon, the booth became sparse with people. Eventually, only I sat at inside.

I was never much of a party-person, I hated having be the center of attention, if it ever came to that. You could imagine my luck that I would end up becoming a people-person, or at the very least, tolerate the idea. (It surprised me then, and it surprised me still).

"Hi."

I tapped my empty glass that used to be filled with water. "Hi."

"Mind if I join you?"

I shook my head. He sat across from me. From underneath the booth's table, our knees touched. Our hands above, not so much.

"Aren't you joining the rest of the lot?" I asked, tiresome. My eyelids were on the brick of closing, and I stupidly caught the sight of his perfectly round, shaped, pink lips.

Wallace sighed. A big, heaping sigh. Something shifted in the air, I could feel it. And it wasn't the fact that the club's door was nearly halfway open, letting in the cool, chill, morning breeze.  "I should be asking you the same question, soldier," he said, his tone dropped; low and rather serious. The first of many things I didn't reckon Wally to be.

I pressed the side of my index finger to my lips, turning my head away from the wall. I hated when he called me that. I wasn't a soldier. I was a doctor.

"Oh, don't give me that face." Wally slapped my wrist. My eyes cut into his, and his smile... it was ever so evident then than ever before. That cheeky little shit head. "Chin, up, smiles on, Darren." Mischief danced in his radiant brown eyes.

"You're unbelievable." I snagged my bottom lip, feeling it quiver against the light pull. I shook my head. "I'm fine." If the battlefield wasn't going to kill me first, I was almost certain I'd die from a heart attack if I kept on looking at him.

He was so utterly mesmerizing, it hurt.

"Come on." Wally stood, pushing out his chair and extended his hand. He looked down at me, and I felt helpless–in love, and  dumbfounded that I managed to befriend someone as opposite of me in such a short amount of time.

I couldn't wait to tell Janet all about him.

I blinked, staring at his paw-like hand. I waited for him to say something.

He broke the silence, and said without hesitation, "I'm asking you to dance."

"What?"

"I'm asking you to dance. Do you want me to spell it out for you, d-a-n-c-e. Me and you. You and I?"

When did the room become hot? Why was a sweating? "Oh," I said. Fucking idiot.

With grave tentative measure, I grabbed his hand in mine and he pulled me right up, no issues.

"Right this way, darlin'." His soft southern American accent dripped off his tongue.

My stomach dropped, realizing what was about to happen. Oh no.

"Wally–"

"I knew you were gonna panic," he said with a wry, dry sort of laugh. "Don't. You've got no reason to."

"But–"

I didn't bother taking in my surroundings or lack thereof for that matter. To me, the club was still fully-functioning and opened. As far as I was concerned, the lights were still on and the disco ball still spun, and music was still playing.

It was still the public, it was still open to me.

"In case you haven't got a clue, everyone left." wally jogged to the the stage, and beside it was a bright-green jukebox, he pressed buttons I could see and played a new song. Was it there the entire time? The hell?

"What are you doing?" I asked, absolutely winded. I didn't know if I should've been more swooned by his charms, or terrified of his power, the gentle grip he had on my heart.

Or both.

"What... what happened to the performer?" I looked around frantically, and the only thing could hear was the music he put on, and my heartbeat that was going a million kilometers an hour.

He was right, no one else was there.

It was truly just the two of us.

He was the definition of romantic, but he was also fucking mad.

""Performer?" Wally bounced back, his tone light and mocking. He burst out laughing. It was a genuine question.

"Yes," I said, earnest.

"That was Emaad Huseinni," Wally reasoned, as if I knew who he was. "He left as soon as we'd gotten the booth."

"That was who?" I asked, to clarify that I heard him right and i wasn't imaging things.

"Emaad Huseinni," Wally repeated.

I gasped. "You are joking," I said in a low, bewildered tone.

"Nope."

"Oh, she's going to be furious that I didn't grab his autograph," I bit under my tongue.

Wally stood smartly, arms folded across his chest. "Who? So you do have a girl."

I gave him a look. "Wha–no. My sister, younger. She's obsessed with him."

Wallace's hand moved to his trouser pocket, and he pulled out the ad clipping Lewis had seen from it.

On the back of it, written in brilliant, bold, beautiful letters, was his name: EMAAD HUSEINNI.

Holy shit.

He came to me with the signed note. I almost took it without asking. "You can have it," he told me and I about emerging as a new person, completely beside myself. Who was I kidding, I wasn't into music, but Janet was. This was for her.

"Really?"

"No."

I groaned. The sinking feeling in my stomach rushed through me once more. "Then why say so?"

"... you still owe me a dance. Or two, or three..."

I couldn't take it anymore. My mouth went to his, and before either of us knew it—we were promptly kicked out because, in truth, the club was closed.

An hour of bliss was better than nothing, I'd argue.

You know what they say, better make the most of what you got--because you never know when you don't.