Your Love was Unmoved
It happened again, it was the third time this week. Steve was sitting on his plush, old love seat in the corner of his apartment and he saw someone move out of the corner of his eye. Not someone, something. Of course, it wasn’t someone, he lived alone on the sixth floor. The only thing he could see outside of his window was the night sky and some rooftops of the apartment buildings across the street. He paused for a while and let all the sounds of his apartment and the noise from the streets below him wash into the apartment, he listened for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing, the jingle of wind chimes that hung from his neighbor’s fire escape. The sound irritated him when he first moved in, an unnecessary noise in an already insanely noisy city. Sam always asked him why he continued to live in the city if it bothered him so much, his answer was always the same. Brooklyn was home.
He went about his days working at the bookshop three days a week and worked with Sam at the VA during the two remaining days. His weekends consisted of reading, writing and painting. He didn’t think he was very good, but it was a passion that crawled under his skin and refused to leave. He spent most of his time holed up in his tiny studio apartment, mostly because his laundry list of ailments kept him from enjoying the world around him. He didn’t mind, he liked being alone. Always being on around people became an exhausting task the older he got; so most of the time he preferred to just stay home. It drove Sam crazy sometimes, wishing Steve would come out with him and try to meet new people.
Steve’s response was always the same. He met new people all the time, between the shop and the VA, he had plenty of people to talk to. Sam doesn’t push too much, which Steve appreciates.
He thinks he sees it again and briefly wonders if he’s losing it. It looked like a glimmer of metal reflecting light from the lamp post outside. When he turns to look, he sees nothing. It must have just been his imagination. His imagination has been playing this trick on him for weeks now, he isn’t quite sure what to make of it. He stands from his love seat to look out the window on the other side of the room. He sees the dog in the apartment across the street from its window, it’s barking out towards nothingness. His bark muted by the walls surrounding him. Steve looks again for the glint that keeps pulling his attention but there is nothing. He sighs, a deep breath that shudders through his entire frame. He double checks the latch on the window out of habit and makes his way towards his bedroom. He shuffles and shimmies out of his jeans and oversized sweater; he crawls into bed like he was starving for it. His blankets cascade and pool around his body, trying their best to envelope him in warmth. He comfortably and calmly falls asleep.
Mornings in the shops are his favorites; they are quiet and lazy and give him plenty of time to go through and catalogue new arrivals or to catch up on special orders. Today was slower than usual because of the steady fall of rain on the harsh pavement and uneven asphalt that made up he beloved borough of Brooklyn. By contrast, it felt warm and comforting inside the shop. The faint yellow glow of the overhanging lights and various lamps gave the shop a mellow, antique look that would seem particularly soothing on a day like this.
Steve may have said today was the perfect day if it hadn’t been for the nagging pain he had been feeling all day in his lower back. He tried to sit up a bit straighter in his chair to try and stretch out the muscles, but he couldn’t shake it out. His scoliosis had been an issue since childhood, most people grow up and grow out of it. It was just his luck that he got stuck with chronic back pain on top of everything else that was wrong with him. He sipped on his ginger tea, it’s warmth seeping into his bones, soothing his pain a bit but it wasn’t enough to get rid of it completely. He finally turned his attention back to the book that he was reading but the bell to the shop entrance chimed as a customer walked in and started browsing the first table of best sellers. Steve gave her the once over. She wore a black colored rain parka with a hood that was still pulled up over her head, hiding her eyes. A few strands of shocking red hair fell loose from beneath the hood. Steve watched her for a few moments before greeting her.
“Hey, welcome in.” He said, his voice still and deep but she still seemed surprised that he acknowledged her. She looked at him and gave back a tight-lipped smile.
“Can I help you find anything?” He questioned sweetly. He did this for everyone, most people said no, browsed for a few minutes and left quickly without buying anything. This woman, kept looking at him, giving him a good once over. She gave him such a stare down that Steve started to feel uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
“Possibly, I’m looking for a specific book.” She said finally. Her voice was deep but not in a sultry way, a way that made you immediately take her seriously. She stepped up to the small counter that Steve was sitting behind; poised at his computer, ready to look for whatever book she could be looking for.
“It’s a book called Kim by—” She started.
“Kipling.” Steve finished.
She quirked an eyebrow at him and Steve continued while he typed the book into his computer.
“Sorry. I haven’t read it myself, I’m just familiar with his works. Isn’t that book about an international spy?” Steve asked to lighten the mood and he could have sworn that for just a moment, he saw the woman crack a smile.
“Something like that.” She says as she brushes a few stray strands of hair out of her face.
“Well, it looks like we don’t have it in stock, but I can special order it for you.” She looked to be considering his offer, not much to it. Give a name, pay and leave her phone number so that he could contact her when the book came in. The woman shifted her weight back and forth between her two feet for some time until finally shaking her head.
“No, that won’t be necessary.” She said, tapping her fingers nervously on the edge of the wooden counter top. She took a step back, giving Steve a once over again. He wondered if he had something on his face or if there was something stuck in his hair, he just couldn’t read the expression that was on her face. Before he could say anything, she turned around and was halfway out the door. Sounds from the noisy street outside filtered into the room and broke him out of his haze. He stood up from his seat behind the counter and followed in her footsteps, stopped at the door and watched her run across the street, going back and forth between cars before disappearing behind a back alley. He watched for a moment to see if she would reappear, but she never did. A cold breeze blew against him and he pulled his sweater closer, tighter against his frail bones. He stepped back into the shop and closed the door behind him. He couldn’t risk anymore of the warm air escaping.
The thing is, she knew it was a stupid idea. She didn’t need to be told at all that letting her instincts pull her along this path was a risk. Not just for her. She had been watching him for days, once she realized that her partner was having a hard time leaving New York she knew she had to find out why. He was always so tight lipped so of course, he wouldn’t confide in her in that way. So, she had to resort to spying on her own partner. Every night, whether they had just finished a mission or not, she followed him. Surprised to find that he was always skulking off to Brooklyn, to one neighborhood; Crown Heights.
At first, she wanted to brush it off, chalk it all up to her partner wanting to trace his memories farther and farther back. She remembers reading something in his file years ago about him being born in Brooklyn. He could just be following his own ghost story back to its origins. One night she followed him from a safe distance across the street from him and for hours all he did was sit on the roof of a random apartment building and just watched. She didn’t know what he was watching, at one point she thought he had fallen asleep, he was a still as the building itself. She wanted to wait for however long it took for him to get up and leave but he didn’t budge. Eventually she got up and left, the distant sound of wind chimes was slowly torturing her towards insanity.
There were a few times she had noticed him watching a bookstore outside of the neighborhood and when she asked him about it, he would either ignore her completely or change the subject. So, she decided to take matters into her own hands. They weren’t on mission today, one of the rare days that she gets to herself and what does she do? She goes to spy on whatever has been pulling the attention of her partner.
The rain landed noisily on her parka, she hated this kind of weather. Even though it was raining outside, the air around her was stiff and muggy; making her hair stand on ends. She braved through the crowds and through the puddles with her head down and stepped into the book shop. She was suddenly encircled in warmth and soft music came from behind the counter. Someone greeted her in a deep, inviting voice but when she looked up to greet them back, she was surprised to find a man who didn’t quite match his voice. How such a baritone could come from such a small person surprised her. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, but her eyes continued to take him in. She could tell she was making him uncomfortable, but she didn’t really mind that, she had that effect on most people.
They spoke about a book she was looking for, he didn’t have it. When he offered to special order the book for her she almost said yes without thinking. What could the harm be in having a book ordered. It dawned on her for a moment that she would have to give him her name, possibly a phone number to reach her with and that was slipping dangerously close into her giving away private information. She knew that this had been a stupid idea the moment she had thought of it, but she had let her curiosity get the better of her. She had to leave, disengage. She left the store and bolted across the street, she could feel the young man’s eyes on her as she moved in between cars and headed down an alleyway; out of sight.
She had just become clear from view when she felt cold, hard metal make contact with her neck and pushed her up against the grimy brick walls of a building. She could hear the mechanical whir of the arm tightening its grip. After struggling to catch a breath, she opened her eyes and looked straight into the icy blue stare of the Winter Soldier.
“Enjoying your day off so far, James?” She sputtered while her hands tried to loosen his grip on her neck. She couldn’t feel the pain in her back and shoulders get stronger as he continued to push her up against the wall.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice was deep and gruff; the echoes of a Brooklyn accent on the edge of each word; it seemed out of place and time. Like someone trying to hide their accent by accentuating every soft L and hard R. “You’re putting both of us in danger of exposure.” He said monotone and low. He finally let up his grip on her neck and gave her enough space to push off the wall and escape his steel grip.
“What are you talking about? I went into a bookshop.” She said, rubbing her fingers against the agitated skin on her neck. There was going to be bruising tomorrow. She tried to sound nonchalant about what she was saying, didn’t want to give away too much. Didn’t want him to realize that she knew as much as she did about where he went at night. Of course, she knew, and he wasn’t stupid. She was a good spy, that’s why they worked so well together.
“Let’s get back to base.” He turned away from her and started to walk towards the back of the alley, she knew there was a sewer entrance there that could lead them to a subway station. She watched him walk away for a moment, taking in what he looked like. She was so used to seeing him in tactical gear that seeing him in street clothes was almost unnerving. His raincoat was a dark navy blue and he was wearing black pants, a dark denim from what she could tell. His boots were the same ones that he always wore but they looked good outside of being worn on mission. His hair was still down, wet from the rain as it dangled in locks across his shoulders. He dark red hoodie was on underneath his coat, the hood drawn up to hide his eyes. Nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary besides the glimmering metal of his left hand.
“It's him, isn’t it?” She asked before he turned a corner away from her, her voice carried across the alley making the question seem louder than she meant it to. He stopped for a long time, she knew that he had heard the question. His hesitation was the answer that she needed.
“This isn’t smart James, eventually someone is going to find out why you keep coming back here. You’re putting him in danger.” She calls out to him, but it doesn’t do any good. Just as the words are finished coming out of her mouth, he is out of sight. Dropped down into the sewers to become invisible to the world once again.
Steve wished he had worn a heavier coat for his journey home. The rain was still coming down in the early evening as he was leaving the shop for the bus stop. On nicer days his apartment really wasn’t that far of a walk but the last thing that he needed was to get sick from spending all his time in the rain. Thankfully the bus stop had a shelter covering it, so he didn’t have to get rained on further. The droplets from the walk over fell from the collar of his jacket onto the pages of the book he was trying to read. The ride home was short, but he still liked to put in his ear buds and let his surroundings drift away. Sometimes he would gaze out the window and let the music convince him that his life was more than it was, imagining himself as the protagonist on a magical adventure or making his way across worlds to find the love of his life. In reality, he was just heading home from another quiet day at the shop; making just enough food for one, to spend the rest of his evening reading. It wasn’t a spectacular life, but he was comfortable and most days, he was happy. He ran from his bus stop to his apartment building, a short distance but by the time he reached the front door he was soaked through to his undershirt. He ran from the small front landing up the stairs, up and up until he legs started to grow tired. Six floors up until he reached the door to his apartment. A small puddle formed under his feet as he fished around in his pockets for his keys. Letting himself into his tiny apartment and making a straight shot for the bathroom to get out of his soaked clothes. They dropped to the floor and he left them there, quickly drying himself off with a towel, leaving it on the floor as well. He walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom to pull some sweats and an over-sized t-shirt out of his dresser, pulling them over his body in fluid movements. His bones felt tired, his feet ached, and his chest hurt from running. On top of his dresser, next to a pile of books that were gathering dust was his inhaler. He picked it up and breathed in deep, twice. His medication taking affect quickly.
This was his favorite part of the day, when he got to put on some comfortable clothes, cuddle up with a book on his well-worn love seat however, when he walked out of his bedroom, something felt off. Something in the air felt static, his breath coming out in low inhales and shaky exhales. He stood in the center of the living room, his tiny studio was silent as he stood and waited for his brain to figure out what was different. After long moments of silence, he felt it. A soft breeze flew through the room and brushed gently against the bare skin of his arms. His window was open, just a crack but enough for him to feel the wisps of air sneaking its way into his sanctuary. He knew for a fact that he had bolted his window shut last night and hadn’t had a reason to unlock it this morning. He felt frozen in place.
He held his breath for a moment and put all his energy into listening. If there was an intruder in his apartment they were doing a really good job of staying hidden. There was practically nowhere to hide a fully-grown adult, once again his attention was pulled to the window. If the intruder wasn’t inside of the apartment than they were most likely outside, possibly watching him from the fire escape. Like a spell had broken, Steve rushed towards the window and closed it, latching the lock closed. Such a simple action and already breathes of relief filled his delicate lungs. He walked back towards his bedroom to grab one of his favorite sweaters, the kind of over-sized sweaters that toppled over his thin hands. He walked back into his living room tentatively, listening to the light footfalls of his socked feet on the hardwood floors. Still no other sound, no evidence that anyone other than himself had ever been inside his home.
He doesn’t know how he notices it at first, but his eyes fall to his book case. It looks just as it usually does. Knick knacks looked the same as they always did, gathering dust along the wooden shelves. Somehow, he notices that a book is out of place, a book he hadn’t took out and read in years, yet he remembers its exact place among the rest of his books. He stepped up to the book case and picked up the thin, paperback volume; its edges covered in dust. Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, one of his favorites. The pages were bent and dogeared from years of being picked up and appreciated, Steve always folded down the corners of the pages he wished to return to. He tried to think of the last time he had picked up this particular volume, but he couldn’t remember. He was pulled out of his thoughts by something slipping out of the pages and gliding through the air to land at his feet. He picked it up, it was light; nothing but an old photograph. A black and white photograph of an old store front, not a store; a bar. McSorely’s Ale House was the name printed on the awning. The name sounded vaguely familiar, Steve was sure he had been there before but not as it looked in the old photograph. It looked straight out of a history book. He looked on the backside of the photo and saw neat scrawl that said –
“Page 144, #5.” Steve looked back to the book and quickly flipped through the pages until he got to page 144. Number five was a reference to the verse to be read, oh, how well he knew this poem; it was one of his personal favorites. Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, he knew the verse but took the time to read it again:
“What is it between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years
Between us?
Whatever it is, it avails not – distance avails not, and
Place avails not, I too lived – Brooklyn of ample hills was mine
I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan Island, and bathed
In the waters around it,
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me.
In the day amoung crowds of people sometimes they
Came upon me,
In my walks home late at night or as I lay in bed they
Came upon me,
I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution,
I too had received identity by my body.
That I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew I should be of my body.”
He didn’t remember taking a pen and underlining these words but there they were. Runny ink was following underneath each word, asking them to be read over and over. Absorbed and understood and felt, just as all words longed to be. He looked around his living room once again and felt the weight of his aloneness close in on him. He closed the book and slide it back into its reserved spot. He left the photograph out, taking it back to his loveseat and leaving it on top of his end table. He tried his best to go about his evening, but the photograph kept pulling his eyes away from his book.