A Conversation

"Honey, I'm home..."

"What took you so long?"

"You know, the work, the traffic. They closed the Drake Avenue exit. It's a parking lot out there."

"I've been home for three hours. I left early today to pick up some groceries on the way. Can you believe it? They didn't have any chunky peanut butter. I had to buy the creamy one."

"Quite a misfortune. Really, what is the world coming to these days?"

"You don't have to be sarcastic. I was just saying..."

"Yes dear, I know you were just saying. How was your day?"

"It was okay. Nothing great. How was yours?"

"It was a blast. Mooned the boss and told him to go drown himself."

"Very funny. Did you call the phone company about the extra charges?"

"Yes, I did and the lady suggested it would help some if you spent less time on the phone with your mom."

"Sometimes I wonder why I even try talking sense with you."

"Yes, it is a pity, isn't it? Sometimes I wonder why you said yes when I was kneeling on one leg with a diamond ring in hand."

"The sparkle of the diamond must have blinded me from seeing your true self."

"Ah, some of my wit is finally rubbing off on you. So what did you cook for dinner?"

"Spinach lasagna with ricotta cheese."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"It was. Opening the packet, thawing the lasagna, heating it in the oven. That's tough, mister."

"Hah...I should have guessed."

"Well, you can crack wise all you want. I have an early presentation tomorrow, so I am off to sleep."

"No wait...listen, sit down for a minute...let's talk...it seems like such a long time since we just sat and talked. I mean talked about each other. Not about work or friends or the weather. Just about us."

"I would love to darling. But not today. It's so late and I just have to get up early for my presentation. We'll talk tomorrow, I promise. Now you just go and have a nice hot shower and enjoy your dinner. Good night, dear."

"Okay. Good night."

He looked at the clock. 7 pm. 10 pm in New York. How he hated the time difference. He sighed. And hung up.

The Departure

He was leaving. We sat nursing our beers at the bar of one of those typically expensive restaurants you would find at the airport. The silence was soothing, a silence that comes naturally to friends who have grown used to each other's company. There was nothing to be said, well, nothing that really mattered. I looked at him. He looked tired and haggard. He hadn't shaved. His eyes were bloodshot and it wasn't because of the booze. But then, a girlfriend breaking up a long term relationship could do that to a guy. If only things had worked out for him.

I watched as fresh information cascaded over the dot matrix departure display after an invisible hand had wiped it clean. Another ten minutes and he would have to proceed for security check, announced a sweet voice. Ten minutes. After years of beer outings and football games and cookouts and late-night parties, it had come down to ten minutes. He had heard it too as he was now unsuccessfully trying to gulp down his pint. I smiled. He would not finish it. He never could. But he always ordered a pint. Some things never change.

We walked to the security check area. He hated long drawn out goodbyes. No pithy sentimental speeches like the ones they gave in the movies. Besides, he had already heard all of it over the past few days. We reached the gate. He turned around and said goodbye. I wished him good luck with a hug and a pat on the back. Yes, he said, luck is something I could have used. And he walked in through the security gate.

I stood there thinking about the way things had turned out. It was a darn shame. The stupid visa quotas. It was a darn shame alright.