


Nostalgia

by slyc_willie



Category: Erotic Couplings
Published: 2009-12-01
Updated: 2009-12-01
Packaged: 2017-05-06 12:58:21
Chapters: 1
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/nostalgia-6
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=748325&page=submissions
Summary: An old man looks back on his only love.
Erotica Tags: Bartender, Felix, First Time, Lake, Love, Oral Sex, Park,
Remembering, Rose, Tragedy
Average Rating: 4.5






        Nostalgia


_(Author's note: This story is an official entry into the 2009 Literotica
Winter Holidays writing contest. I hope you enjoy this tale, and please read
all the other entries. There's a lot of good talent on this site. Happy
Holidays, and please don't forget to vote.)_  
  
* * * *  
  
I find it funny that the same music which makes you cringe when you start
hearing it in the department stores after Thanksgiving can conversely give you
a warm, nostalgic smile in different circumstances. Christmas, since I became
an adult and stopped thinking of the time of year as the ultimate in material
wish fulfillment, was a time for reflection. Sure, New Year's Eve was
traditionally about making resolutions in regards to the past indulgences of
the year, but Christmas just seemed the perfect time for slowing down, taking
your life in stock, and being grateful for what you have and who you are.  
  
This Christmas, I had agreed to help out my great uncle Jerry at his little
hometown bar called The Whiskey Shallow. I had some experience as a bartender,
having filled in at the restaurant where I worked throughout college in that
capacity. To be honest, it was a pretty easy gig. Most of the patrons wanted
nothing more complex than a cold bottled beer or a Jack and Coke. For those
few times when some college coed or career barfly ordered a Sex On The Beach
or a Long Island Iced Tea, I had a dog-eared copy of _The Bartender's Bible_
to help me along.  
  
The onset of Christmas naturally meant a surge in business as men and women
enjoyed an additional night off during the week, or otherwise sought refuge
from irritating in-laws and relatives who had come to visit. Being a
bartender, I quickly realized, meant being a good listener and junior
psychologist. People seem to think that standing behind a bar and slinging
drinks for eight hours meant you were somehow in tune with the collective
subconscious or something. At the least, I can attest to learning a few things
about the human condition by being one of the only sober individuals in a room
full of drinkers.  
  
Jerry gave me a piece of advice which he urged me to take to heart. "You have
to wear a coat of 'I-know-what-the-fuck-I'm-doing' when you tend bar, kid," he
told me in his gravelly voice. "Otherwise, they're gonna eat you alive and
your tip jar's gonna have the bite marks to prove it."  
  
So I did my best to be as arrogant as a young pitcher just brought up from the
minors, and what I didn't know, I faked. Being a weekend alcoholic during my
undergrad years helped. So when the cute blonde in the breast-hugging top
bounced to the bar with that slightly inebriated, wicked gleam in her penny-
colored eyes, I was ready to play her game.  
  
"What you want this time?" I asked.  
  
"I want a blowjob," she retorted with a swipe of a firm pink tongue across
pearly teeth.  
  
"Isn't that my line?" I quipped, immediately wondering how wonderful those
lush pink lips would feel.  
  
She bit her lip seductively. "Maybe later, stud," she answered, giving me a
quick once-over. "If my plans fall through."  
  
I rolled my eyes, but reached for the Bailey's behind me. "Nothing turns a guy
on more than being second-best," I drawled, taking up a shot glass.  
  
The girl giggled. "Well, technically, you'd be my first choice for a guy, but
I'm after pussy tonight," she revealed wickedly, tossing a glance over her
shoulder toward a brunette at a table behind her.  
  
The sudden, intense image of those two coeds going at it resulted in immediate
swelling beneath my jeans. I tried to focus on pouring the beige-colored
liquid. "Nice," I managed to say.  
  
"It will be," the girl responded, slapping down a five-spot and taking up the
shot after I had topped with whipped cream. She gave me a playful wink. "Would
it help if I told you I'll be thinking about you when I've got all this thick,
sweat cream in mouth?" she asked rhetorically before prancing back to the
brunette.  
  
I couldn't come up with an answer. I could only shake my head and try to think
of old naked nuns in order to cancel the surge in my libido.  
  
A low chuckle drifted toward me from halfway down the bar. Close to midnight
on Christmas Eve, the Whiskey Shallow had started to empty out, leaving just
the die-hard drinkers and those with nowhere left to go. I wasn't sure to
which category the hoary old man with his barely-trimmed grey beard belonged
as he nursed his third Glenlivet on the rocks.  
  
"What's so funny, Felix?" I asked him, scooting down the bar and taking up a
towel to dry some glasses sitting on the drain rack.  
  
"Blowjobs," he commented, his crinkled old face showing his age as he smiled.
"You remember your first one?"  
  
I laughed under my breath. "Yeah," I said. "High school."  
  
Felix sputtered, thick red lips flapping through his facial hair. "I was a
quiet kid in high school," he revealed, then licked his lips and smiled with a
fond memory. "Even after, too. Girls didn't do things like that back then.
Well, not like they do now. It was a good girl/bad girl thing, you know?"  
  
I chuckled. "Good girls didn't, bad girls did?"  
  
Felix grinned, showing stained teeth. "No. Good girls just didn't brag about
it."  
  
I smiled. "But they still did, huh?"  
  
He sighed wistfully. "At least one did," he mused aloud. He stared at nothing
in particular while his mind clipped the cartwheel backward in time. "She was
a real catch, but I didn't know it at first. The all-around good girl, Miss
America wrapped up in soft brown hair, rosy cheeks, and a pleated blue skirt."  
  
"What was her name?" I asked, polishing glasses. The majority of the remaining
patrons – including the gallivanting blonde and her imminent lesbian lover –
seemed content to keep themselves entertained for the time being.  
  
"Rose," Felix answered, a faint twinkle lighting up the corner of his eye.
"Went to high school with her, but didn't really know her. She was quiet, like
me. Anyway, I shipped out to Korea in '51. Spent two tours over there as a
supply clerk with a MASH unit. Guess I came out lucky, not being on the front
lines and all. Least I didn't have any nightmares or horror stories when I
came home."  
  
"Good thing," I said, for lack of anything more profound to say. I watched
Felix tilt the glass back, as the lights in the bar refracted like golden
sunshine through the facets of the tumbler and the ice within.  
  
He set the empty glass on the bar top and pushed it slightly toward me. "Got
back home just in time for the first snowfall in '53." He shook his head with
a sad smile. "Christ. How long ago was that? More than a half a century, now."  
  
I refilled the old man's glass and slid it back before him, waiting for him to
go on. His little story had me intrigued.  
  
"Anyway," he continued, cradling the glass in gnarled hands. "I saw her one
day at the library. I was going to school, then, just like you, furthering my
education. Wanted to be a businessman." He gave me a wink. "You know, do
something respectable."  
  
I smiled, waiting.  
  
He inhaled through thick nostrils, regarding his drink with a distanced eye.
"She was like an angel," he said. "Putting away the books in the Civics
section. I offered to help with some of the higher shelves, and she just
smiled, thanking me with those deep blue eyes. Now, I was never a ladies' man,
but something about her just compelled me. We got to talking, and before I
knew it, I was inviting her out to the soda stand after work for a milkshake."  
  
Felix touched his lips to the scotch. "She said she had a beau she was waiting
for, a soldier in Korea who was due home after Christmas. I respected that, I
really did. I was a gentleman. Honestly, I never figured anything more than
sharing a chocolate shake would happen between us."  
  
"I'm guessing that's not the end of the story," I said, prodding him when he
took another sip.  
  
Felix chuckled knowingly. "Be pretty boring if it was, wouldn't it?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
He sauntered on with his tale. "Well, we agreed to catch a flick at the drive-
in that weekend. I tell you, I had the most Christian motives in mind when I
picked her up. I had this '48 Mercury I bought cheap. It wasn't much, but it
was a set of wheels, and that was all that mattered. Rose was wearing a blue
country skirt and a blouse, a shawl over her shoulders . . . not the kind of
get-up you'd expect from a girl with anything other than pristine motives in
mind."  
  
"Appearances can be deceiving," I commented, stepping away to pop open a trio
of beers for the cocktail waitress.  
  
"You ain't kidding," Felix said when I returned, picking up as if only a
second had passed between us. "I don't know what did it, but soon as I cut off
the car and we started watching the movie, Rose was cuddled up against me,
tucking herself under my arm like we were going steady. She said I was a 'nice
guy,' that she could 'trust' me. Always figured that was a code, you know."  
  
I laughed. "Yeah, I know. Nice guys always finish last."  
  
"If they finish at all," Felix added with a dark glimmer. His face softened.
"But it turned out I was wrong."  
  
He sipped again from his drink, then took up the pack of cigarettes before him
and lit up. Thick grey smoke billowed out from his lips, preceding the words
that followed. "I just about jumped through the roof of the car when she put
her hand in my lap. And it wasn't on my leg, either."  
  
I chuckled. "Didn't think she'd be that forward, huh?"  
  
"Christ, no!" he exclaimed, then sucked on the filter of the cigarette. "But I
wasn't no dummy. Hey, a girl as sweet and cute and virginal as Mary wants to
pet my johnson, I ain't gonna stop her."  
  
"Hell, I wouldn't, either."  
  
Felix grinned, sipped his scotch, smoked his cigarette. "Next thing I knew,
she was getting my belt undone and popping the buttons. I couldn't do anything
but let her go on with what she wanted. Didn't even look around at the other
cars, to see if anybody could see what was going on. Part of me figured I
might scare her off if I said or did anything, and the other part of me knew I
didn't have any experience in such matters, so I'd best play it cool and see
what would happen."  
  
"I guess that worked out for you."  
  
"In the best way," Felix muttered, almost to himself. "I don't mind saying I
was harder than the Rocks of Gibraltar when she pulled it out. Damn did her
warm little hand feel good. It could've been fifty below outside the car for
all I cared. For the first time, my pecker got to know a hand other than
mine." He chuckled and puffed on his cigarette, flicked it over the ashtray on
the bar before him. "But I wasn't prepared for what she did next."  
  
Felix sipped from his glass and licked his lips. "The way she was huddled
against me, I could only see the top of her head, the way the part zig-zagged
back and forth. But then she sort of moved, sliding down in the seat and
lowering her head. I didn't even know what she was doing, that's how green I
was. But, I tell you . . ." he sighed heavily, tilting his head back, aged
cloudy eyes fluttering toward the ceiling. He lowered them and gave me a look.
". . . It was heaven."  
  
I nodded. "Always is."  
  
Felix let out a sharp laugh. "Bet you do," he remarked. "Good-looking kid like
you, bet you've had your pecker sucked more than a few times. Casual as a
handshake these days, ain't it?"  
  
I shrugged. "Maybe."  
  
"Well, it was a novelty then," he said bitingly, jabbing a twisted, dried
finger onto the stained bar. "The kind of thing that rates highly on the scale
of unexpected pleasures. And trust me, it was ten times that novel, that
pleasurable, when Rose first took my rod in her mouth."  
  
He fell quiet, considering his drink and smoking his cigarette. I felt a
little chastened. The intimation of his words was that my generation didn't
revere certain pleasures the way his did. And we didn't. Felix was right; a
blowjob these days was as casual as a handshake. I had dated girls who had set
the rules up front: "I'll suck you off, but no fucking, okay?"  
  
Hot in one sense, but not so much in another. The mystery, the challenge, had
been removed. There was no sense of wonder, hope, or possibility. The
impression I'd always had was that a movie and a bucket of popcorn rated a
standard cocksucking. Expensive dinner turned that into a topless blowjob.
Maybe fingering, or cunnilingus in trade. For my generation, sexual favors
were all about making a deal.  
  
"Christ, what an incredible feeling," Felix said, remembering. "Warm, wet,
sucking and pulling like a waterspout over a lake in tornado season. And she
was making little noises, too, whimpering and moaning, like she was doing
something she needed to do. I was in awe, let me tell you, completely in awe,
watching her head bob up and down, that soft brown hair bouncing."  
  
He paused, draining the rest of his scotch. He slapped the glass down and
wiped his mouth, before a smile stretched his lips. "I remember thinking I
wasn't sure if I should warn her when I was going to . . . you know."  
  
I nodded. His story had elicited memories of my own, making me realize the
comparisons.  
  
"I shouldn't have worried," he continued, pushing from the bar and slipping
his legs to the floor beneath the bar stool. "She took it all. Every damn
drop, and kept going at it to make sure she got every damn last little bit.
That was a special thing, kid."  
  
I gave him an amused look. "Did you fall in love?"  
  
He nodded, accompanying it with another wink. "Yeah, but it wasn't because of
a blowjob." He stepped back. "I gotta drain the lizard. Tell you more when I
get back."  
  
* * * *  
  
Jerry was going over the inventory in the back when I stepped through the door
from the bar. He gave me a curious smile as I took up a bottle of water from
the little cooler. "How's it going out there?"  
  
I shrugged, speaking flippantly. "People having fun, girls flirting, old man
telling me about the good old days. The usual."  
  
My great-uncle's features darkened somewhat. "Old man?"  
  
I nodded. "Felix. I got the feeling he comes in a lot."  
  
Jerry pursed his lips. He was best described as a toad of a man, his back
arched and limbs somewhat twisted by arthritis. Still, I had seen pictures of
him as a man my age, and had to admit he had been more than a little good-
looking in his youth.  
  
"He's been here a while," he said sourly.  
  
I could read the cloudy expression he wore. "Is he trouble?"  
  
Jerry made an effort to smile, though it was obviously fake. "No. Not really.
There's just some history, is all. But it's been a long time."  
  
I drained the rest of the water, thinking there was more my grandfather's
brother wanted to tell me. But I refrained from pushing the issue. I knew
Jerry well enough to understand he would tell me something if he felt I needed
to know it. The fact that he remained silent told me his association with
Felix was casual at best.  
  
But I wasn't sure I believed that.  
  
* * * *  
  
A short list of drinks awaited me when I returned to the bar. Two
cosmopolitans, a line of Patron shots, and several bottles of beer. As I
finished popping the tops of the latter, sending the cocktail waitress on her
way, my attention returned to lonely old Felix.  
  
"Saw her again the next night," he continued, picking up his tale where he had
left off. "It was strange, watching that angelic, pretty young thing come to
the door after what she had done for me. I met her father, shared a beer with
him. He liked me, I could tell, mainly because I was a soldier and was going
to college. Guess he figured I'd make good husband material."  
  
He chuckled under his breath, looking lost for a moment as if he had forgotten
where he was. But clarity returned quickly enough. "Told me to take good care
of his little girl. 'Only one I got, son,' he said." Felix dipped his eyes.
"He called me 'son.' Only my old man ever called me that."  
  
I watched him from the corner of my eye while pouring a couple pints of Blue
Moon. Felix' temporary look of self-admonishment vanished under a forced
smile. "Anyways, I took Rose out to dinner. We talked a little bit about
ourselves. She mentioned the guy she was waiting for again, but . . . didn't
seem to me like she was waiting all that seriously. In fact, we never spoke
about him again. Not that night, and not once over all those weeks leading up
to Christmas."  
  
By the way he paused, I could tell he was leading up to something. I watched
the scant few others in the bar, most of them clustered around one of the two
dart boards. They weren't paying either me or Felix any heed.  
  
"Christmas Eve," the old man breathed, speaking the words with reverence that
seemed uncommon coming from him. "It hadn't even been two months, but it
figured me and Rose were as good as engaged. Her family liked me, mine liked
her. All that was missing was the ring."  
  
"I took her out to the Big Ben," he said, intoning the name of a venerable
steakhouse on the edge of town which had seen better days. "We took a little
walk out in the park after dinner. Rose liked the lake, you see, which was
right on the edge of the park. Told me that water was her element. She wrapped
herself around my arm like a ribbon, silky smooth and cool at first, but then
warmer and warmer. There wasn't much snow falling and the wind was gone. Just
pure Yuletide scenery. Kind'a magical, really, like God wanted to make
everything right, just for us. Wasn't another soul around, either, which
suited me just fine."  
  
"Don't tell me you two got frisky in the park," I commented dryly.  
  
Felix tossed out his rakish, "gotcha" grin. "Would'a been a hell of a scandal
if anyone caught us. Good girl like Rose, soldier boy like me . . . but like I
said, there wasn't another soul around. Just me and Rose and the snow and
stars. And back then, the stars looked a lot brighter at night."  
  
He took another sip and puffed on the cigarette, regarding it for a moment as
if he expected to have been smoking something else. "Anyway, we got to this
little picnic table, out past Old Man Tree. Boughs were so thick with snow
some of them touched the ground. Cold as it was, though, it didn't feel like
it. Maybe that's because of the way Rose and me were holding each other,
kissing like bandits afraid of the posse coming down on us. Then, just for a
second, she pushed me back, those round cherubic cheeks glowing like an elf
about to offer up a present. Which, I suppose, she was.  
  
"Now, I don't know how many perfect pairs of breasts you've seen in your
life," he continued. "And I'm talking real ones, not that fake silicone crap.
Real, honest-to-God perfect breasts. The kind that float on a girl's chest as
if she was treading water. That kind. Round and firm, with just a few freckles
right in the middle like dots if cinnamon sprinkled on a cappuccino. And
creamy white, too, like fresh milk, with bright little cherries on top. Puts
any birthday sundae to shame, let me tell you."  
  
I smiled at Felix' descriptions. The man should have been a writer, I figured.
Hell, maybe he was.  
  
"I'd been raised to treat a woman with respect, you know," he went on after
another puff of his smoke. "Not to dive in like a starving man who's never
seen a feast. Not that I had; well, a feast like that, anyway. Still, I kept
my military decorum and took my time, admiring the gifts before me. And boy,
did I admire them. Eyes, hands, fingers, lips, tongue . . . I admired the hell
outta them."  
  
A snicker escaped my lips. I took the bottle of scotch from the shelf and gave
Felix another shot on the house. He tipped his hand as if touching the brim of
a hat.  
  
"That really got the little firecracker going," he said with a fond sigh. "She
had this dreamy look in her eye, and told me she had something to give me. I
had something I wanted to give her, too, but I don't think we meant the same
thing. Anyways, I let her give it up first." He winked knowingly, making me
roll my eyes. But I was enthralled by his story.  

He started to speak, then paused. "A difficult thing, trying to put words to
something so perfect and new. I mean, how do you describe snow the first time
you feel it hit your cheek? How do you describe rain when all you've known is
the dessert?"  
  
I started to answer in some flippant way, but Felix cut me off. "The answer
is, 'not well,'" he said, then smiled. "What Rose and I shared that night is
special. I think I ought to leave it at that."  
  
I nodded. "Maybe you should."  
  
With a heavy, groaning sigh, the old man straightened in his stool, then
pushed back and slid heavy, aged feet to the floor. He took the down-filled
parka hanging off the back of his chair and slipped it on, in the process
giving me a glimpse of a single red rose in the inside breast pocket. But it
disappeared quickly enough as the thick lapels slapped to his chest.  
  
"I feel like I need to round it out," Felix said, as if in afterthought. He
hesitated by the bar, weathered old fingers tapping the rim of his glass in
contemplation.  
  
"Maybe you can tell me the rest Saturday night," I offered.  
  
He shook his head beneath a cloud of dry, silvery hair. "We went for a drive
around the lake in my car," he said, voice hollow and distant. "But that's a
story for a different life, I think."  
  
Leaving me with that last, cryptic phrase, Felix stepped from the bar and
headed toward the door. The burst of algid air that accompanied his departure
swept through the bar like the obnoxious breath of Old Man Winter. Even the
inebriated, salacious blonde and her brunette girlfriend shivered through the
shield of inebriation.  
  
I caught their eye as I glanced away from the door. "Closing time," I
announced.  
  
* * * *  
  
Half an hour later, the bar was empty as I went through it, switching off the
lights. The speakers still played a medley of classic Christmas tunes
intermingled with more contemporary ones. Bing Crosby bled into Elvis, Brian
Adams into U2 and then more recent fare. The only lights that remained on
where the green, gold and crimson orbs glowing in the front windows.  
  
Leaving behind the strong aroma of cigarettes and cheap perfume, I stepped
through the small kitchen, bidding Juan, the dishwasher, a good night before
opening the door to the office. My great-uncle Jerry sat slumped in his chair
before a glowing computer screen awash with multicolored ribbons of light. I
gently nudged him awake with my hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Wh-what? I wasn't gambling! It was just cards!"  
  
I chuckled, stepping back. "Relax, Uncle Jerry," I said.  
  
He blinked, coming awake. Passing a parchment-like hand over his face, he
groaned and shook himself back to consciousness. "What time is it?"  
  
"Two-thirty. Time to go home."  
  
He nodded, smacking dry lips and grimacing. "We got any fresh coffee?"  
  
I glanced back to the little white Coffee-Mate in the nook behind the office
door. "Define 'fresh.'"  
  
He grumbled, grey mustache twitching. "Just give it to me."  
  
I poured him a cup, tossed in two creamers and a spoonful of sugar, then
stirred the mixture before giving it to him. "That Felix is a hell of a story
teller," I commented as I handed Jerry the cup.  
  
His eyes looked tired and dark beneath a wiry brow. "Told you stories about
the good old days, huh?" he quipped.  
  
"I guess," I answered. "More like an old man basking in the glory of his
youth."  
  
"Is that what he called it."  
  
My great-uncle's deadpan and grave reply made me rethink my earlier assessment
of his relationship with Felix. I took a chance. "You know him, don't you?"  
  
Jerry soured, saying nothing as he sipped his bitter, lukewarm coffee. In a
flash, I went through all I knew about my grandfather's brother. He was the
youngest of three, and being in his mid-seventies, was of the right age to
have served in Korea . . . .  
  
_Christ_, I thought as a revelation occurred to me.  
  
"There's two ways you can know anyone," Jerry said before I had a chance to
voice my suspicion. "By association, and by reputation. I never knew Felix
personally."  
  
"But you knew him by reputation," I said, prodding.  
  
Jerry nodded. "Only once I came back home after the war," he confirmed
tiredly. "Two days after the new year. I had a lot to look forward to. A clean
life away from war, my family, a job . . . ."  
  
"Rose?" I offered carefully.  
  
His eyes flashed with suppressed anger mixed with regret. But like Felix,
Jerry's eyes faded into reticence quickly. He nodded. "Yeah. Rose. _My_ Rose."  
  
I fell silent, not sure what to say. I felt like an unwitting mediator between
a pair of crotchety old men too wrapped up in their own narrow views of the
world to risk clashing them together.  
  
"I guess he gave you a real nice story," Jerry went on. "All about true love
and first times and all that bullshit."  
  
I frowned. "'_Bullshit_?'"  
  
Jerry showed crooked yellow teeth as he laughed mirthlessly. "I'm betting the
way he painted things, it didn't come across that he raped my fiance."  
  
I recoiled, feeling a distinct tightness in my chest. "What?"  
  
"You're a bright kid, but you're still naive about some things," my great-
uncle said blandly. "Did he tell you what happened when they went for a drive
around the lake?"  
  
I blinked, feeling numb. "No."  
  
"The car went off the road, ended up in the lake," Jerry informed with a hard
edge to his voice. "I figure they'd been fighting. Maybe she tried to jump
out. Nobody knows for certain . . . except that Felix swam out, and she
didn't. They found her the next day, still in the car."  
  
I swallowed thickly, shivering as a chill ran down my spine.  
  
Uncle Jerry suddenly turned away, alertness compelling him to finish the day's
books. "Ah, who the fuck knows anymore? After fifty-six years--"  
  
"Was there an investigation?" I managed to ask.  
  
He paused, half looking over his shoulder at me. "Yeah. No fault. That's what
they found."  
  
"So . . . maybe it was just an accident."  
  
"Depends what you call an _accident_," Jerry said in an acidic voice. "Was it
an accident that I got assigned to a patrol that kept me in Korea three months
longer than my tour? Was it an accident that some goddamn supply clerk comes
home in time to seduce my Rose away from me? Or was it just a fucking accident
that I fell in love with her in the first place? You tell me, because you got
about as much insight into the works of God as I do."  
  
To say that I felt Jerry's pain – vicariously at best, I admit – would be an
understatement. "I wish I could," I said at last.  
  
"Yeah," he scratched out through a dry throat. "Me, too."  
  
* * * *  
  
Only three hours into Christmas day, and I felt like I was carrying the weight
of two different worlds upon my shoulders. On one side was balanced that of
the strange old man, Felix, and on the other, the supposed betrothed of his
lover, my great-uncle Jerry. Two men, two worlds, and not a satisfactory
conclusion for either.  
  
I made an effort to push those worlds behind me as I exited the service door
of the bar. A new blanket of snow had filtered down from the heavens, riding
the slightest of breezes so as to land like a gentle blanket upon the land. I
managed to shed a smile at the simple pleasure of catching a few flakes of
snow on my tongue, and told myself that the heaviness of the evening would be
gone by the time I awoke in the morning.  
  
I suppose it will ever be a question of chance or providence that I happened
to glance to the front door through which the patrons came and went. Perhaps
I'll never know.  
  
But there, just to the side of the doorway, away from traffic, lay a single
red rose, partially covered with the fresh, pure flakes of Christmas snow,
petals glowing gently with an innate crimson radiance. My immediate thought
was that it had somehow fallen from Felix' coat, but how could that be, unless
he had taken it out upon exiting. My eyes searched the myriad tracks leading
to the parking lot, where they degenerated into greasy sludge. If the old
man's feet had gone that way, I had no chance of following.  
  
So I bent and took up the rose and carried it to my car. I set it upon the
passenger seat and drove home, whereupon fatigue bade me forget about it as I
stumbled into my parents' house on the edge of town. Once inside, I delved
carefully through darkness so as to avoid awakening the others, and made my
way quietly to bed.  
  
That night, I dreamed of snow and iced-over lakes, of passionate gasps and
cries, of forlorn groans and painful wails.  
  
* * * *  
  
The little television in my room at my parents' house flickered as I came
awake. Apparently, I had left the device on a local station, which was
broadcasting the noon news as I awoke.  
  
". . . city workers this morning discovered the frozen body of an elderly man,
tentatively identified as Felix Lautner, 77 on the southern shore of Lake
Shannon, in Old Tree Park. Cause of death is as yet unconfirmed, but suicide
is not being ruled out since the body was found sitting up and there was no
evidence of foul play. Results of a toxicology screen are pending."  
  
I blinked my foggy eyes awake, the reality of the news anchor's words slicing
through the miasma like a woodsman's saw. The camera angle changed, showing a
black and white photograph obviously taken a good half century before floating
on the screen beside the anchor's head. It depicted uniformed men from the era
standing amid snow-laden banks, looking toward a car being dragged out from
the waters of the lake.  
  
"The discovery of the body, and the apparent name of the deceased, comes on
the fifty-sixth anniversary of the death of Rosemarie Anne Carter, who, along
with a then twenty-one-year-old Felix Lautner, drove into Shannon Lake on
Christmas Eve. Miss Carter drowned, but Lautner survived, giving rise to a
flurry of rumors surrounding the tragedy. Despite being absolved of any
wrongdoing in the death of Miss Carter, Felix Lautner's innocence was never
completely accepted by the community--"  
  
I jumped out of bed, needing not to hear anymore. I rushed to pull on my
clothes and dashed to the bathroom down the hall, ignoring the intoxicating
scents of gingerbread and roasting turkey, the excited laughter and squeals of
my sister's and cousins' kids. I didn't bother shaving, just brushed my teeth
and fixed my clothes. I rambled down the stairs, pausing briefly as I caught
my mother's eye as she stood in the kitchen along with my grandfather and
great uncle Jerry.  
  
Beyond them, the small television on the kitchen counter flickered quietly,
showing the same newscast I had been watching.  
  
"Honey?" my mother asked tentatively, smiling crookedly. "Are you all right?
I'm sorry if the kids woke you, but it is Christmas--"  
  
"It's fine," I said, trying to appear calm. I shot Jerry a brief look. His
features were like the face of David, as always. Stoic and unreadable. But I
could see a quiet storm swirling behind his eyes, a tumult of conflicted
thoughts.  
  
"Well, you want some breakfast? You're a little late for pancakes, and too
early for turkey, but I could make you an omelet, I guess."  
  
"I can feed myself, mom," I said, touching her arm. I leaned in to give her a
kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for letting me sleep in."  
  
She smiled, the way only a mother can, conveying a sort of chastising
forgiveness. Then she looked past me toward her uncle. "I have a feeling you
two have something to do," she said sagely, then touched my cheek. "Dinner's
at three."  
  
I nodded. "Thanks, mom."  
  
* * * *  
  
I had expected yellow crime scene tape stretched across stakes hammered into
the ground, perhaps surrounding some kind of tape outline in the snow. But the
only things that marked where Felix' body had been discovered were trampled
snow and a vague depression wherein, I figured, had been found the old man's
body.  
  
The scene was eerily tranquil. A few boats bobbed lazily on the surface of the
lake; joggers in their best winter workout garb circumnavigated the edge of
the lake. Less than a hundred feet away, a happy young couple held hands as
they stared out over the still winter waters, faces rosy and noses red, eyes
aglow with love.  
  
I looked down at where Felix had been found, imagining him seated as he slowly
froze to death, staring out at the lake in which, more than half a century
before, Rose Carter had drowned. What had he felt as he died? Remorse? Regret?
Or maybe just the simple pain of survivor's guilt mingled with the sense of
acceptance?  
  
_I'll never know,_ I thought, holding the single red rose in my hands. In my
periphery, Uncle Jerry appeared, stone-faced as always, narrow eyes staring
out across the lake. "You think Felix would appreciate a gesture like that?"  
  
A weary sigh escaped me. "Yeah, I do," I answered, then looked sidelong to my
great uncle. "You still think he raped her?"  
  
Jerry didn't speak, but I could see his jaw muscles working beneath leathery
old skin.  
  
"You ever think, all this time, he was telling the truth?"  
  
"I considered it. But, like I said, what does it matter anymore? It's been
fifty-six years, now."  
  
"Then maybe it's time two old men finally came to terms with their grief," I
said in a tone I had never used with my grandfather's brother before.  
  
He gave me a look that would normally have been a prelude to some
condescending diatribe about age and experience and "knowing the ways of the
world." But it didn't come. Instead, it seemed, an old man who had always
lived his life alone, who had always been the dour old curmudgeon throughout
my entire life . . . for a moment, he appeared to become human.  
  
"I hated the man," he said in a strangled voice, forcing the words out. His
eyes reddened, then watered. "I thought I always would."  
  
"I know."  
  
He sniffled once, making a supreme effort to hold back tears which had been
welling inside for more than five decades. "Jesus, what the hell am I supposed
to do? I'm too old to change my mind now."  
  
I fidgeted. This was new territory between my stony old great uncle and I. "I
don't know what to tell you," I said. "I don't have another fifty years of
experience and life wisdom under my belt to even qualify to tell _you_ what to
do. But, maybe it's just me being young and stupid and not knowing squat about
anything . . . it just seems to me that there's no use being angry anymore.
Felix is dead, Uncle Jerry."  
  
He nodded sagely. "Yeah, he's gone, and so is my Rose, and I still don't know
what the hell happened between them. For the longest time, I just wanted to
believe he took advantage of her, abused her, even killed her. It was a hell
of a lot easier than to think the woman I wanted to be my wife had fallen in
love with someone else. Easier to use that as an excuse to stay miserable for
the rest of my life."  
  
I was quiet for a moment, looking down at the rose in my hands, when an
epiphany fell upon me. A smile pulled at the edges of my mouth as I held up
the rose before Jerry. "Tell me if I'm wrong, but you're life isn't over yet."  
  
Jerry frowned, looking first to the rose, then to me. I didn't know what was
going behind his eyes at that moment, but I could have sworn I saw at least a
flicker of life in there somewhere. Hesitantly, he accepted the rose, holding
it like Arthur when presented with the Holy Grail.  
  
"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" he asked as I stepped away.  
  
"I don't know," I called back as I made my way up the bank. "It's your rose,
not mine."  
  
_~finis~_  
  
_(Thank you for reading. Please, don't forget to vote, and feel free to leave
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