You still don’t understand why they come. They don’t fit in. They don’t dance or drink, they just sit in the back corner at a table and talk to each other. And they are years older than anyone who has ever come in before. You’d say centuries but you don’t want to be disrespectful to your elders.
But they’ve been showing up every so often for a little over a year. It’s almost been 14 months, actually. You actually remember the exact date the two first came in. Not that anything that happened that day was memorable. But what had happened the night before it was.
You had had a nightmare. Which sounds like a bit of a pansy thing to happen, but it did and when you woke up after a flash of green and silver the next morning, you were covered in sweat and had tears in your eyes. Not that you would ever admit to that last part.
But ever since that night, you've felt different. You feel a small ache in your heart when whenever you look at turntables. For some reason the image of a bird is a bittersweet mix of brotherly pride (or what you think it must be like, since you don’t have a brother and can’t possibly know) and devastation. And you suddenly have a distaste for dogs. You don’t understand it, but you know it has something to do with the dream.
You don’t even remember the dream, really. Every time you tried to remember it, the only thing your memory was capable of producing were just flashes of color and blurry images. Sometimes the flashing lights in your memory were accompanied with a brief but much too potent flash of emotion that usually had you thankful you had your glasses.
The night after the dream was the first time they showed up. ‘They’ were an elderly couple (at least you assumed they were a couple) that would occasionally come into the club you DJ at. None of your coworkers know who they are or why they feel the need to come and sit in the back of the club, but you’ve all mutually agreed to just let them do whatever the fuck they want. They were old enough to make their own decisions anyway.
Whenever you see them, it almost feels like déjà vu. They remind you of your nightmare. You think it’s because they showed up the night after it, when it was still on your mind. You attached them to the memory of it and suddenly you’ve convinced yourself that they were in it. But at least they were the good part of it. You think.
Seeing them come in to the club always breaks your heart. The two of them are cute in the way only old people have been able to achieve, but looking at them makes you feel like you’re empty. Like you’re missing an essential part of your life that used to be there, but is gone now.
Maybe you’re going crazy, but you think they feel it too.
You see the look on their faces whenever they look up at you. You recognize it because it’s the exact same one you’ve let slip a couple of times when you look at them. You don’t think they understand it either, but they seem to understand more than you do. Or maybe it’s just their front of elderly wisdom. But they say nothing so you say nothing and all three of you continue on with your now-empty lives, wondering but too scared to ask.