The Phantom

He was cleaning the menu case with the dulled enthusiasm of someone who has done it a hundred times before. His hand slowly wiped from side to side, pushing the greasy fingerprint oil around the glass rather than wiping it off. He had a smile on his face, a little turn in the corners of his mouth. His chin was lifted, his eyes glazed. It was hard not to smile too. He turned his head. His eyes locked on mine from across the shopping centre. Standing in front of the juice bar, space all around me in the nearly deserted shopping centre I was completely exposed. With nowhere to hide, completely vulnerable, I smiled back. His grin widened, exposing two rows of perfectly straight teeth. He held the gaze for one, two, three seconds.

It hit me like a shot of electricity just as he turned his head away.

He weaved his way between tables, pushing in chairs and reorganizing salt and pepper shakers as he went. As he loped along my brain began racing and memories from a long time ago flooding back. Fifteen year old memories all crashing together like a storm in the ocean.

The last time I had seen him his head had been slapping against the old wooden desks in the science room. He'd been batting at imaginary flies and mumbling incoherently to himself. I had watched in morbid fascination. He'd been coming to class with red eyes and a slowed speech for months, but this was by far the most entertaining he'd been.

There’d been a steady decline over a two year period. He’d started high school as one of the exemplary students. Advanced classes, excellent behaviour, representative sporting teams, but by the end of the two years he was barely sticking around for the first hour. Or if he did he was too wasted to actually comprehend anything.

He left school one day and just didn't come back. It was only a short time later that the rumours started. They said he’d been caught running around the carpark of a local tourist attraction in the middle of the night and completely naked. It had never made the paper in the way that a politician’s son running naked through a tourist park should, but rather than lending weight to the idea of it being just a rumour, it fuelled further talk that his father had been able to cover it up.

Fifteen years later it was definitely him in the café. The high cheekbones, the athletic frame which was now somewhat leaner but still healthy, and the sandy blonde hair. He glanced over again, catching my gaze. He still had the same perfect, tanned and completely smooth skin. The way he bounced when he walked, as if sinking deep down into his knees with every step. It was definitely him.

The corners of his mouth curled a little higher again before he turned away. Was it recognition? While his head had been slapping against the desk I'd most likely been sitting quietly in a corner of the room, or off to the side, hoping that everyone or no one would notice me. Mainly I had just wanted him to.

We'd travelled in very different circles in every sense. His father was a politician and a small business owner. He had the ideal picture perfect politician's family, complete with a mother who'd worked in our school library. He was popular without being arrogant. Standing well over six feet at thirteen years of age he would duck his head when he talked to you. Often opting to sit down or crouch while you spoke. Whether consciously or subconsciously, he didn’t look down on others.

He was my crush during my 8th and 9th years of school. The only thing I clearly remember is that he had a mild obsession with The Phantom and when he smiled I tended to swoon, knees buckling beneath me. He was also responsible for my fascination with learning basketball the two years we had English class together.

Just like a phantom he had disappeared without a trace, leaving my young heart crushed.

As he joked with some customers his face lit up in the same way that had been the catalyst for instant attraction all those years before. He seemed full of life as he moved around, collecting the plates and coffee cups. He chatted casually with the patrons. He seemed happy.

There was a sense of disappointment though. As the lady at the juice bar called my name, handing over an Energiser juice designed to combat pleurisy, I felt a crushing sadness for him. The dreams he must’ve had all those years before, what had become of them?

He was a gifted artist. He often left people speechless with the quality of his work at such a young age. He had been one of the smartest, if not the smartest, people in our year and yet here he was, waiting tables in a café. It was strange to realize that I wanted more for him. So much more for him.

But he did look happy. His face glowed, his eyes were clear and he still had that same hypnotic smile. It made it easy to console myself with the knowledge that whatever life had thrown at him, he was clearly ok with it.