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The strange man stayed on the bench beside her, quiet and grounding — offering periodic reminders that the park was a safe place, and that it was a good idea to breathe — until Miriam’s heartbeat had slowed and she once again knew where, and when, she was.
“Thanks,” she said, voice raspy to her own ears. “Think I’m okay now.”
“Glad to hear it.” The man was quiet another moment, surveying her, perhaps trying to decide if the assertion of okayness was to be believed.
Now that Miriam was out of the flashback and able to think more or less clearly, she took a minute to reciprocate the inspection, looking at this stranger who had recognized what was happening and come to her aid. A young-to-middle-aged man, she saw, in a battered leather jacket. Big ears, buzzcut hair, and eyes that were older than the sharp face they sat in.
Miriam suspected her own eyes had much the same look about them, so she was not entirely surprised when her companion spoke again.
“I’m no stranger to war trauma, you know,” the man said, brow furrowed. He wasn’t looking at Miriam now, just staring ahead at nothing in particular — or, perhaps more likely, at some memories that only he could see. “If you’re not okay yet, that’s… well. Ironically enough, that’s okay.”
“Sure.” Miriam sighed. “Easier to say than to believe, though, isn’t it?”
“True.” The man didn’t smile, exactly, but his lips did suggest some rueful curvature.
“I don’t think it’ll ever be okay,” Miriam said after a minute. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you about this. I usually don’t.”
“I usually don’t either.” He looked, she thought, very tired. “But we all need a bit of understanding, sometimes.”
“Everyone says I’ll get over it. But the things I saw…” She shuddered. “The things I did…”
“Hah.” The sound was almost a laugh, aside from the total lack of humor in it. “If it’s any comfort, I’m sure I’ve done worse.”
“Not very comforting,” she admitted. “But thanks.” She hesitated. “How do you… cope with it?”
“‘It’?” His mouth twisted in another not-grin. “You mean, with the utterly crushing and debilitating weight of constant horror, unimaginable sorrow, and fundamentally unbearable guilt?”
“…Yeah.”
Another sound, this one slightly closer on the spectrum to laughter. “What gives you the impression that I cope with it?”
“Well,” Miriam observed, “you’re here.”
“Fair point. So I am.” The man shrugged. “I travel, mostly. Try to help people, where I can. Remind myself there’s still a big old fantastic universe out there, waiting for me to see it. That helps. Occasionally.”
“Hmm.” Miriam thought about that, and sighed. “Maybe I should take a holiday, sometime.”
“Not a bad idea.” The man considered her. “What about you?”
“I’m the one who just had a flashback panic in the middle of a public park,” she pointed out. “Don’t take mental health advice from me.”
“On the other hand, you’re here.”
Miriam was the one to laugh this time, and hers was genuine. “Guess so,” she said. “Still working on the coping thing. But it usually helps to spend time at home. To be with my family.”
“Ah.” Another shadow crossed the man’s face; then he nodded. “Wish I could try that one. Still, it’s a nice thought.” He seemed to hesitate, then said, “Can I offer you a lift? Home, or… well, anywhere else you might like to go?”
She blinked, caught off guard — then recalled a touch of common sense. Having a heart-to-heart talk with a total stranger in a public park was one thing; getting into his car, quite another.
“Thanks,” she said, meaning it. “But it’s not far. I really am okay, for now. And I don’t mind walking.”
“Oh.” He opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something more … then, evidently, changed his mind. “Well. Fair enough. Have a fantastic life, then.”
She left the park a short while later, feeling calmer but making sure to focus on her surroundings (trees, people, an old-fashioned police box) — keeping herself grounded, just in case.
She realized, later, that she’d never even asked the man’s name.