A Tale of Two Men

He’d waited for over an hour before the old red Ford pulled into the driveway. He looked at his watch, shook his head and watched for a moment as it made its way noisily up the gravel drive, stopping just short of the house. He put his hands on the armrests, paused a moment, then pushed himself up out of the deep soft chair, a labor born of weariness, not infirmity. He could hear Jorge stepping up onto the porch as he approached the door, and opened it.

“Hello, Jorge. Here, let me give you a hand with those.”

Jorge nodded and grimaced as he lifted the box a bit higher for Wayne to take from him, and then picked up the small gray Samsonite at his feet. He came into the house, removing his straw fedora, and glancing about.

“Wayne, its not changed much. But you, you got old.”

Wayne smiled and grunted, waving Jorge to a seat on the couch next to the chair from which his story began. Wayne had met Jorge some 34 years before, when he visited this same house and sat in another version of that couch in which he now sat. Things were different then, a bit more tense. And there was a gun involved. But that’s another story.

Jorge pulled out a fresh Romeo et Juliet cigar, and passed another to Wayne, who had already pulled the cutter from his cigar table. Wayne cut his cigar, passed the cutter to Jorge, who worked his cigar in his hands as Wayne lit his, sat back, and took a long draw.

“You saw me here last week, you stupid shit.”

Jorge smiled, cutting his cigar, then giving it a cold draw, sat back and turned the lighter in his hands. It bore the markings of a naval ship, a frigate, USS Halyburton (FFG 40), its herald behind it as the engraved ship seemed to come forth from the aged unpolished brass.

“Yup.”

Jorge smiled at Wayne, lit his cigar, and the two men sat in silence.