It'll Be Great

The next several nights went in much the same way: Cid appeared to be drunk out of his mind, refused to acknowledge that he’d met her several times, and stumbled out the door, only to be seen just minutes later, staring completely calmly and steadily at the rocket, as if he hadn’t imbibed a single poisonous drop.

Gossip throughout Rocket Town had circulated about the last several women who had tried to get close to Cid, even before the incident occurred. Airica had overheard other women at the market, on her way to work, whispering over fences, saying the craziest things about Cid: that he had turned down so many women who had tried to “help” him, that now women were best to just leave him alone…he obviously wasn’t interested in the fairer sex anymore. And what a shame, since he had been such a ladies' man in the past.

One woman wistfully recounted every detail of a very naughty tryst she'd shared with the man years earlier. He'd taken her out in his Tiny Bronco (a rather bad sexual joke, she'd ed), flown her to a nearby island, and seduced her with wine and fruit and talk of the stars. They had made fierce and passionate love on a blanket on the beach. He was a very good lover, she insisted. He was surprisingly gentle, sensitive to her physical desires, and he wasn't bad in the size department either. The woman had then sighed a strange little sigh. "I almost married him," she'd said. "But he would have none of that. He was all about the sex, that one. He was something of a stallion, who needed to run free and...haha, and be fruitful on his own time." Airica listened to such stories intently, but took it all with a grain of salt. She had been raised on a farm, and recognized the ladies’ chatter as little more than the pecking and clucking of hens, something to pass the time a little faster.

The more she learned about Cid’s past, the more intrigued she became. Soon, what had seemed to be a passing vague interest had developed into a fascination. She often found herself staring at him as she absently wiped down the same glass over and over.

He wasn’t particularly handsome. In fact, his weathered face and arrogant posture made him appear gruff, unsophisticated, and unapproachable. It was just his eyes – those cold, sparkling blue eyes, like the ocean – that she couldn’t shake. She knew, looking at them, that they were rarely examined. They appeared to be unmarred by human contact, still innocent, still gentle. Something else was simmering below the surface, something that betrayed his outward depression.

She watched him carefully, night after night. Occasionally she would attempt some forms of conversation.

Conversational: “How’s work going, Cid?”

Funny: “So, Cid, how’s the wife and kids?”

Gentle: “Do you want to talk about it?”

Confrontational: “Look, man, you have got to get yourself out of this funk. You’re being ridiculous.”

All attempts were greeted with silence or a brusque, muttered reply. It was, at the very least, discouraging. She began to wonder if there really was any hope for him. Then one night, a very odd thing happened. She came to work, early this time, to help Arnie with a few extra housecleaning chores, and found the place all but empty. Arnie was there, of course, and Cid sitting on his usual stool, but there was nobody else to be seen. Arnie vaguely mentioned kicking him out and shutting down early, since there was no other business to attend to, but Airica gently and discreetly talked him out of it.

“I mean, look at the poor man. Where the hell else is he going to go? Home?”

Arnie grunted an unintelligible response and left quickly.

Airica walked to the back of the bar and turned the television off. Before she could turn around again, a low voice growled through the new silence.

“You know, I’m not trying to kill myself.”

Airica’s eyebrows shot up. She hadn’t really expected him to say anything to her ever, but this was damn near shocking. Her stunned silence asked her question for her.

“I mean, that’s what they all say about me, right?”

She took a few hesitant steps towards him. “Something like that, yeah,” she answered quietly. She almost jumped when he turned to face her, his expression a picture of sobriety, his voice and eyes crystal clear.

“I mean, this,” he said, waving his half-empty glass around in the air before letting it hit the bar noisily. “This is kid’s stuff. If I wanted to kill myself, I’d be much more efficient about it, I can promise you that.”

Airica completed the distance between them in a few more steps, then slowly took the seat next to him. She chose her words carefully, treating the conversation like a fragile chocobo egg, in its first stages of incubation, when the slightest disturbance could kill the growing creature inside.

“Then why drink like this? Why give people that impression?”

His answer was quick.

“Because in this kind of town, when somebody fucks up royally, they have two choices: crazy town drunk or crazy town recluse. Either way, you’re crazy. And if I’m going to be crazy, I’d like a drink while I’m at it.”

Airica smiled and reached behind the bar, snatching up a glass and a bottle. She poured herself a drink and held it up towards the enigmatic pilot. “I’ll drink to that,” she said. He smiled at her gruffly, the first she’d ever seen from him, and lifted his glass to hers. They made a satisfying “clink” as they collided in the air. Airica took the entire drink in one shot, then set the glass back down on the table delicately. She turned back to Cid, ready to ask him another question, but found him staring that stare into the bottles across from him, gazing. He didn’t move except for his arm, which brought his glass up to his lips and back down to the bar. This conversation was over. Airica sighed and stood again, collecting her glass and dropping it in the washbin as she came back around the bar.

She did not see him on the street that night.