Below the Streets of Dear Old London
Like trains, every good thing must come and go. Below the bustling city streets of London zig-zag the tracks of hope for some, and for others, memories. Each time the overhead clock chimes by the hour, thrill moves down my spine. To move to such a city means a new perspective. Once more the clock chimes as a man with eyes that weep like willows approaches. With a tip of the hat he says, “Nice day out isn’t it?”.
“Quite a lovely morning”, I reply breathless.
“Why, I’ve never seen such a skittish lad in all my years”.
“Today, I seek joy far beyond home”.
“Ah, you my boy remind me of myself...Beware of your desires”. The older man’s voice seemed to bring about a sudden gust of winter breeze, rattling my bones. Towering over even a large man, his suit ceased to have one wrinkle, and his hands were capable of cradling The Ben.
“And who might you be to tell me such things?”
“Like you, I left to pursue a new life...Now I return to bury my father”.
He embodied the men I studied: brief narrations of daily tasks, and uncalled for advice. Yet, I headed such a man, for he was who I wanted to become.
“What do they call you”, I inquired while sipping hesitantly.
“They call me the omniscient, but the name’s Jack Bailey”. The coffee shot out of every crevice possible.
“Jack Bailey as in Bailey&Co.?”. Signals shot through my body forcing each bone to focus.
“Yes sir that would be me”.
“It is an honor to even be speaking to you, sir”.
“Pleasures all mine.” His mouth moved automatically, trained by the city. “Listen young man, this is the best advice you will ever receive”.
“All ears, sir”.
“I see how your posture straightens when you speak, and how your eyes glisten”. “Never lose that, old sport”, he continued without hesitation, “Look at me and tell me what you see”.
“Sir, I see a man capable of owning all of London”.
“Correct”. A sigh of relief filled my lungs. “However, incorrect”. “I am that man, but I have no happiness”. Jack’s shoulders sagged, and I now noticed the blue-ish semi-circles below his lash line.
“Mr. Bailey, Shaftesbury is a land of baked loaves and romance”. “You are a man of great power”. I meant these words and asked, “What could be so bad about the city?”.
“Innocence is lost, old sport”. “Nine to five is all”. His hair stood up.
“I understand, sir, that is what I have read in the Metro”. I truly wanted to believe that the city was all fun and games.
“Old sport, read between the lines, for I lost everything I once cared about”. The chimes overhead struck once again, and I closed my eyes in shock. As I turned to thank Mr. Bailey for the words, he was gone. Perhaps, he was the only good thing I would ever find in the city.
