Being man (part 4)

“Days in St. Patrick’s were like . . . like heaven, Ken. My best years . . . yeah,” his voice like trailing off.

“Best years! Oooohh, well, I wonder what would have happened to you if I did not leave. St. Patrick could have enjoyed the sweet aroma of Gilbey’s more often! Remember when you blew in the chapel during the lauds? Man, that really made me tremble. ‘Twas a brave brush with the rules, huh. I guess, being there was like always bringing you to danger zones! You should thank me. You owe me those best years!” He gave me an uncertain look. “Just kiddin’.” He held up his hands. “But it hurts to think I was not part of those years.”

“Two years, Ken. My first two years were great because you were there.”

“Adding spice to your life? You’re welcome! At least, my presence did you something good.” There I was mixing things up again. Mark knew my ways. No, not every bit.

“Well, what are friends for?” He grinned. And laughter. We raised our bottles for a toast. A big splash climbed up the shore almost wetting our feet. The sea must have desired to join us in the toast, for along the years of growth, of pain and of joy, the sea was a faithful companion.

“Yup, what are friends for?”

Silence returned to take its place between us. Once more, he cast his gaze far out to the silvery sea. But I did not find anything yonder that should interest me. Perhaps, he saw things my eyes just couldn’t see. Or he might have been looking at things he himself didn’t see. Turning to him, I tendered a friendly tap on his shoulder.

“Something’s bothering you?” (January, 1998)

To be continued...