The bustling noise of the coffee shop faded into a dull hum. At one end of the table stood Arthur, clutching a cane, his knuckles white with tension. At the other stood Eddie, adjusting his glasses with trembling hands.
They weren’t the scrawny thirteen-year-olds in short trousers anymore. They were men weathered by life, with skin mapped by wrinkles and hair turned to snow. But as their eyes locked, the fifty-eight years of silence—the wars, the careers, the marriages, the losses—evaporated.
Arthur was the first to move. He took a shaky step forward, his voice barely a whisper. “Eddie?”
Eddie let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since 1966. A crooked, familiar grin broke through his teary eyes. “You got old, Artie. You got really old.”
The hesitation vanished. The two men collided in a hug that defied their age, clutching the backs of each other’s coats as if letting go would mean losing each other for another half-century. There were no manly pats on the back; just a desperate, tight embrace while their grandchildren watched from the sidelines, wiping their own eyes.
“I looked for you,” Eddie choked out, pulling back just enough to look his friend in the face. “My old man… he got into debt. We had to run that night in ’66. They didn’t let me say goodbye to anyone. Not even you.”
“I went to your house the next morning,” Arthur replied, his voice thick with emotion. “The windows were dark. I sat on your porch for three days waiting for you to come back.”
They sat down, knees knocking together under the small table just like they used to at their school desks. For hours, the coffee went cold. They didn’t talk about their accolades or their bank accounts. They talked about the stickball games in the street, the teacher whose wig they almost knocked off, and the silence that had haunted them both.
As the afternoon sun began to dip, casting long shadows across the café, Arthur reached into his pocket. He pulled out a slightly crushed, foil-wrapped package.
“My grandson told me we were meeting,” Arthur said, sliding it across the table.
Eddie peeled back the foil to reveal a peanut butter sandwich—crushed, simple, and perfect. He laughed, a sound that made him look fourteen again.
“You remembered,” Eddie said. “I always forgot my lunch on Tuesdays.”
“And I always had enough to share,” Arthur smiled.
They weren’t just two old men meeting for coffee. They were two best friends, picking up exactly where they left off, proving that while time can change faces and addresses, it cannot break a bond that was built to last a lifetime.
“So,” Eddie said, taking a bite of the sandwich. “Tell me everything. Start from the day after I left.”
“It’s a long story, Ed,” Arthur chuckled.
“That’s alright,” Eddie replied, leaning in. “I’m not going anywhere this time.”
