Bucky's Diary

July 1, 2016

Carry You – Ruelle (ft. Fleurie)
—————•—————

Dear Diary,

I started out my morning with some Spirytus Rektyfikowany, you know, the 96% alcohol that only gets me a little bit drunk on a good day. I also made sure to clean the apartment today because, well, there was a shit ton of bottles everywhere.

----------

After I got rid of the bottles in the dumpster behind the building, I made my way back upstairs to have breakfast. When I opened the fridge, though, there were no more plums left. I guess I ate the last of them yesterday and didn't realize.

I made my way down to the street market where I normally purchased my fruit and other goods.

"Cum sunt? Sunt bune (how are they? are they good)?" I asked the vendor, motioning to the plums.

"Sunt coapte, îs bune, sigur că da (they're ripe, they're good, of course)," she replied.

"Sunt coapte (they're ripe)," I repeated. "Ăăăă, bine atunci, dați-mi... dați-mi vreo (uhmmm, ok then, give me about... give me about)..."

"Șase, poftiți (that will be six, here you go)!" She answered, handing them to me.

"Mulțumesc (thank you)!" I smiled, giving her the money, taking them and walking away.

I made my way back to my place and was preparing to cross the street, plums in hand, when I noticed a newspaper vendor staring at me. I looked away after making eye contact, assuming he was probably just zoning on accident. When I looked back, though, his eyes were still locked on mine.

I crossed the street in my oversized dark hoodie and baseball cap, approaching the man at the stand quickly, and he started to run away- literally run as fast as he possibly could.

Once I got to the stand, I picked up the newspaper he had been reading and glanced at the headline:

JURNALUL DE LUGOJ (LUGOJ JOURNAL)

WINTER SOLDIER CĂUTAT PENTRU BOMBARDMENTUL DIN VIENNA
(WINTER SOLDIER WANTED FOR THE VIENNA BOMBARDMENT)

I squinted at the paper and reread it again and again and again and I felt lost like I didn't know what to do- like that wasn't my name plastered on a newspaper, but like it was all at the same time. I hate that alias sometimes, The Winter Soldier as if I'm the only Russian January with a MADE BY HYDRA stamp branded into my skin.

I made my way back to my apartment swiftly and unnoticed, being sure to keep a look out for anyone who might recognize me and, luckily, no one did.

When I made it to my building and walked through the front door silently, I noticed someone standing in my kitchen holding my diary. I looked him up and down because I couldn't pinpoint his identity solely from his back.

In that moment, he turned around and met my eyes, looking me up and down just as I had done to him a second earlier. "Do you know me?" he asked practically immediately.

I stared at him, simply watching for a moment, never looking away. That's him, I remembered, he's alive and breathing and right in front of me. The memories flooded back into my brain instantly, if not from his recognizable face, then from his steady, unchanging voice. "You're Steve," I decided upon. "I read about you in a museum."

He put my diary down. "I know you're nervous... and you have plenty of reason to be," he approached me slowly. "But you're lying."

"I wasn't in Vienna. I don't do that anymore," I was honest, letting him see that I was acknowledging the fact that I was lying about not knowing him.