Alec

by William di Canzio

The next weeks were the busiest of his life, what with his work to keep up while getting ready to go. Mill and Milly, saddened at first by his news, soon turned to playacting heartbroken maidens who vowed to throw themselves into the sea after his ship. One day, near the back road to the train station, the three of them found a quarter hour to practice dramatic farewell kissing. But their play was interrupted when a car drove by, bringing a guest to the house, who scowled at them from within. The girls snickered and turned away. Alec locked eyes with the man, a handsome fellow with black hair and a mustache. He felt a sudden charge. Just as suddenly—and to his surprise—he understood it was mutual. The guest’s expression softened, unwillingly, it seemed, from anger to mildness. What was Alec seeing? Desire, loneliness, longing, even helplessness? The man’s lips parted, as if to speak, but he did not. When Alec realized they were staring at each other, he lowered his gaze and touched the brim of his cap. The car continued on toward the house.