Between the Lines #2

I put the paper down and try to roll out my shoulders. It’s the memory more than the actual words that bring on the anxious tension. Soren looks at me with that measured observation he has perfected, but there’s a soft bit of sympathy on his face. I know he understands even if he hasn’t experienced this exactly. He knows what it’s like to be somewhere, with someone, feel something, and not have a choice about any of it.  

“Worse than I thought.” Is all he says.   

I nod and sip my coffee. The bitter, burnt, nastiness is only masked by the sugar I put in it. I’m actually thankful for the bad taste. Somehow it pulls me back into the diner booth, rain falling outside, Soren sitting across from me. I take a deep breath and use the exhale to flush the hypervigilance out of my system.  

As I reach for the next sheet in the folder, Soren holds up a hand to stop me.   

“Give yourself a break.” He says. I don’t want to. There are more dispatches to get through. We can’t stay in this diner forever.   

“It’s alright, I’m okay,” I reassure him.   

“I know, but,” Soren holds up a finger, “you’re not the only one with stories.” He rummages through his coat and pulls out a weathered notebook. I’m not sure whether to be excited or confused. Rarely does Soren pull out his own dispatches. He prefers it when I talk, and he gets to comment. He flips through the dog-eared pages before landing on one towards the beginning of the notebook.   

“This was one of my firsts. I had it a long time ago. Before you were born probably.” He says as his thin smile makes a brief appearance. “I remember it being difficult, vague, I didn’t know what was going on.”  

“So, am I going to know what’s going on?” I ask. Soren’s smile flashes back to life with a chuckle.   

“I think so. But whether you know why, or what it means, well...” He puts on his reading glasses. “...only one way to find out.”