Icebreakers

Prologue

According to DJ, every story started when a man walked into a bar. It had happened to him four times in his life, or so he would say.

The first was when Cash Maguire had walked through the door with an idiotic smile sprawled across his face. This first story was the story of a tall, skinny guy with the luck of the Irish and the green eyes to match. He didn’t know a thing about charm but that was exactly why he was so likeable. His accent was thick but his grammar was perfect and that was why DJ knew that Cash Maguire was about to become his best friend.

The second was when Franco Stern had walked into the bar as if no bad in the world had every even touched him. This second story was the story of an enigma that needed to be solved. This was the story of a man who had lived his whole life outside of society and just now decided to breeze into reality. His smile was wise as if he had known many tribulations but none of them had changed him and that was why DJ knew that Franco Stern was going to be a friend.

The third was when Ed Vega had walked into the bar with a smile so charming that nobody could turn him down. This story was the story of a life that was too good to be true. His clothes were smart and proper and clean but everybody could tell that Ed was not. They called him Vega because he asked them to and that was why DJ knew that Ed Vega was going to be his ally.

The fourth was today, when a man walked into the bar, he must have been about twenty, twenty one at the most, all brunette curls and blue eyes, misery blatant all over his face. DJ didn’t know what this story was but he knew that he wanted to find out.

There was one story that DJ didn’t tell, one that began with a man walking into a bar. This man had been different to Cash, different to Franco and different to Ed, different to even the last guy. This guy had worn denim dungarees with a white T-shirt and tattered converse all stars. This guy had splatters of paint all over him and his hair fell in tumbles that were neither brown nor blonde against his cheeks, cheeks that were rosy, red, and healthy and somehow in a way nobody could place, happy. His smile was warm and friendly as he passed into the bar, his eyes the lightest shade of blue that most people had seen, they screamed ‘talk to me’ for a reason nobody could understand and every inch of him invited people in.  And this was the story of when Damian John Scott had walked into a bar.

There was a reason that DJ never told this story and it wasn’t because nobody had ever asked, because they had, in another context, at another time, but DJ had a way of avoiding the subject.

People had smiled at Damian John Scott, people had wished to be his friend and surrounded him. They had joked with him, they had flirted with him, they’d seen the best of Damian John Scott but he had never seen the best of them. As seasons passed, and Damian sat, and he drank, and he drank, and every day he drank, and the dungarees disappeared, and so did the paint that had splattered them, and so did the smile that everybody loved, and then so did his hair which was now slicked back and styled. And then, as if he had never been there, Damian John Scott had disappeared and in his place was DJ.

People still smiled at DJ and they still flirted and they still joked and they still saw the best, but DJ never tried to see the best in them. His tattered converse were thrown into the skip outside his house one day as he walked down the street and his cheeks had lost their glow, and his eyes which had once been bright and inviting were now cold and collected, as if nobody would ever quite know what DJ was thinking. And still he drank, and bottles littered the streets where DJ went and they littered his home and they littered the tables where he sat, and still DJ drank. And when one day DJ finally stopped drinking, he was never quite the same guy, and that was why DJ knew that Damian John Scott was from now on, going to be nothing but a stranger.

And just then, as DJ told that last story to himself one more time, he noticed the man that had walked in talking to Cash and he heard the name, “Johnny Simone,” and he saw Cash reach out and shake his hand, and he saw Cash grin, and he saw Cash gesture towards him and DJ stood, and DJ walked over and DJ said “I’m DJ” and when Johnny smiled and his blue eyes sparkled, almost a shade of gray that nobody but DJ would recognize, that was when DJ knew that Johnny Simone was going to be something to him, but he just couldn’t work out what.