Graceless

With swift ease Richmal Henderson snipped the end from his cigar then twisting it in his fingers he position the long shaft of tobacco in-between his teeth and proceeded to light the end with his famous solid silver lighter. The thing had been a gift from his father on his twenty-first birthday, a few years ago now, and was in fact a precious heirloom that had belonged to his great grand father, dating back to before the First World War. Caressing its cold metallic surface with his fingers he place the lighter back into his plum dinner jacket, taking a deep drag of his cigar. Beckoning the barmaid over, he pointed to his empty glass.

            “As I was saying,” He said coolly to his many friends around him as he observed the maid taking away his glass to refill it with port. “The whole debacle of Caesar was all of his own creation. Let us face fact, the man was pompous, he let his ego cloud his judgment of people. If he had not been such a sap for all this romantic brotherhood garbage that he saw Brutus with then he would have succeeded in creating and ruling the greatest of Empires.”

            Richmal observed his companions nodding heads, secretly pleased by his point, if a little out dated and unoriginal, he found that no matter what information he was revealing, it could always be pepped up with a little flamboyant language and a casual but cleaver tone.

            The barmaid came back with his glass and place it on the slate table before him. Waving his hand at her, he leaned over to take up the glass and had a heavy sip. Nothing like it. A drink used to toast the death of military service men it was one he found rather refreshing. He liked to call it his drink of culture, proclaiming that with every sip he honoured thousands of fallen soldiers. If truth were told he didn’t really give a damn so much as liked the taste.

            Crossing one leg over his knee, Richmal place a lazy hand to his head to ruffle back his thick black hair from his eyes and looked about the room. What a second-class dump, he thought, taking another deep pull from his cigar. Why on earth he let these lemmings drag his here night after night was beyond him. He would simply have to learn to put his foot down. After all the decor was at least ten years out of date. He sniffed as he observed the hazel wood bar, its long stretching surface covered with a top of black slate and a long foot rail of golden piping. Pathetic. Not to mention cheap. And the chairs were damned uncomfortable, the red velvet padding on some becoming worn and moth eaten. Condensation clung to the mix match stained glass windows and the manager seriously needs to invest in some more exotic places.

            Richmal shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

            Another night in society, he mused.

            Stubbing out the last centimetre of his cigar on the tabletop, Richmal hulled himself from his seat. Others looked to follow, seemingly eager to get to the next bar, but he halted them with a shake of his head.

            “Alas my friends, I am about to leave you. I’m off home I think.” He said with charm, turning to take his calf length black coat from the hat stand. Shrugging into it he winked at one of the many ladies present. “No doubt I shall see all your smiling faces tomorrow, but for now gentlemen…Goodnight.”

            Threading a red scarf through the collar of his coat so that it hang down either side of his neck, Richmal headed to the door. Out in the night air of the beer garden he was surprised by just how cold it had turned. Damned if I’m walking home in this, he thought. Hailing down a taxi, he gave the driver directions to the southern part of town and got in.

            As the car rolled down the empty streets, squares of orange light flitting past slowly, the auroras of many flicking streetlamps, Richman looked lazily out of the window. Kids littered the streets, smoking and pushing each other about. Riffraff. Their test of manhood is demeaning, Richmal observed as they went by, they should all be imprisoned for their childishness.

            The taxi turned a corner, passing over a bridge that ruled over the river. Just down stream Richmal caught sight of a young women sitting on a bench, the collar of her white coat pulled up around her face, gloved hands breaking bread for the ducks still active in the moonlight.

            He recognised her from somewhere.

            Unable to shift the feeling that he knew the white-coated women, Richmal eventually told the taxi to stop, paid him and walked back along the deserted road, all the while trying to place her. He knew her from somewhere, he could hear past words of one of their previous conversations replaying in his head. He just couldn’t remember her name.

            That was after all if it was the girl whom he was thinking of, which he sincerely doubted. She had moved away he was sure of it, about three years ago now. They had gone to school together, he remembered. Studied critical thinking, they were in the same class, she had been rather sharp he recalled. Studying in history and physics, one of the few people though out that he didn’t feel completely bored talking to, in fact his memory told him that she had even made him laugh.

            Oh but what was her name, he questioned himself as he began the short way up the incline before the river. He’d be damned if he could remember. She wasn’t a pretty girl he knew, recalling that her skin was quite bad, that she suffered rather from spots, but they had gotten on. But her name?

            And why had they not spoken for so long, surly there was a reason behind it? It was because she had to move away…no. Something told him that it was because of him that she had moved away.

            “Ah, that’s right.” Richmal muttered to himself as his recollected kicked in. She had developed that ghastly crush on him. Though he couldn’t blame her of course it had been rather off putting, in fact so much so he was sure he’s done something about it.  

            And though he couldn’t quite remember it all he recalled the crux of it. He told her that they we two different people, not compatible because of their different personality traits. Yes, and he had admitted that he though she was great but that they could only ever be friends. Letting her down gently and what not.

            “Richmal.” The voice came softly though the chilled air, causing Richmal to stop suddenly. Looking up he saw her face, surrounded by her white collar. Shining blue eyes framed by thick black lashes stared back at him; a thin nose sheltered a sweet smile, those cherry lips parted slightly over neat white teeth, a blush creping upon flawless high cheekbones. Her long copper hair tumbling in the wind.

            “Patience!” Richmal smiled at her, suddenly recalling every conversation, the heat of their discussions, the wits of her jokes, the passion in those eyes as she spoke of literature. 

            Then just as quickly as the cheerful memories came, replayed before him in his minds eye, the event at the end of their friendship materialised. 

            A phone call on New Years Eve, one of many conversations in this way, plotting to hold a wine tasting and debating Greek Philosophy. But then talk turn darker. He knew because it was he who had stirred the conversation that way. What was it he said?

 “The trouble with you Patience is that you don’t go out often enough by far! You say you never drink…why an earth not? That’s half the fun in life! If you did I bet you’d have a lot more friends. It would do you the world of good to just go out, get socialised and get pissed…frankly that why we would never work out, your stuck in the mindset of building a career and finding a solid relationship, piffle if you ask me.

“Oh and just while I think of it dear, I’ve been meaning to give you a small piece of advice. Don’t be yourself. You should take a leaf out of my book, pretend to be the idealistic version of someone you admire and everyone will love you, that I can promise, cause to be honest no one really likes you the way you are now.”  

Had he really said those things? The world around his erupted in a blur, the earth suddenly coming up to greet him.

“Richmal!” Cried Patience, rushing to him as he crumpled to the floor, that last glass of port finally catching up with him. “My God, are you all right? Have you been drinking?”

Richmal groped her arm, trying unsteadily to pull himself to his feet. After giving a small protest that he should stay where he was a moment she helped him up.

“Richmal?”

He looked at her then, studying the concern in those eyes, wondering why hate didn’t splinter though her gaze.

“My dear,” Muttered Richmal, unsure as to where to begin. “Forgive me but I am not alright, in fact I am rather far from it at the moment.”

He pushed away from her, unable to blink, not capable of comprehending anything more at the moment other then what he had done. Shakily he found his way to the bench and sat, Patience following close behind him in case he fell.

“Why are you here?” He asked, looking at her with anxiety, seeing those beautiful eyes flick from his face to the rivers water.

“Helping you, you fool, though by right I should have just left you to rot on the river bank.” She laughed, taking a seat next to him. He put his hand on her arm.

“Indeed you should have.”

Patience moved her arm uncomfortably. “I would never do that. Do you really think me capable?”

“No.” He replied truthfully, seeing compassion in those eyes. “You were always kind to people, even when they don’t deserve it…even to me and I deserve it less then anyone.”

Patience titled her head, watching him with interest. “What makes you say that?”

“After what I said to you!” Richmal replied, his heavy voice breaking on the words as he choked them out. “I didn’t realise until just now but I have no right to treat you that way. None. And I have lived my whole life on principals that belong in hell…”

“Silly boy.” She said almost playfully. “I didn’t think you knew what those words meant to me.” Her eyes grew dark at she revisited those unfriendly memories. “You really did ruin me for a time, but then I suppose I realised that you were young, your prospective on life never guiding you further then a week in time and gradually I began to piece myself back together. Thought I did take something from your advice…”

Richmal sat up straighter, grasping both her hands in his, a look of total pleading on his face, as blindly he wished all the things he hoped she would not say. For the first time in his life Richmal prayed. He asked that she had not turned graceless like he himself was, that she still valued the things that always she had and not changes herself because of him.

“What did you take?” He breathed, worriedly.

“The same thing you should.” Patience’s whispered. “You where right, you should be a idealistic version…but of yourself.” 

Richmal couldn’t help himself, such wisdom, such grace and forgiving! Life was about to change he knew it! All he could learn from this one woman! He could change his ways! Live a happier, fuller life! All these feelings of hope, he didn’t know how to express them, he was as giddy as a schoolboy. If he could just…

He kissed her unable to think of anything else to do. And what was more, she kissed him back.