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We would chat by the fireplace for an hour, talking about how many homes he’d sold, how the kids had grown, anything but our feelings. The softness in his voice told me all I needed to know. Unfortunately, he was heading down the same road that I had already traveled. He was engaged. He chose not to talk about her, the wedding, the impending plans. It somehow made our friendship seem more fair- it was taboo for both of us, and secrets to be held by only us. One day, I decided to bring him photos of our updated home- we had painted many rooms and added a deck. I walked into his model and told him I had photos. He was with another client and he would be with me shortly. I left the pile of photos on the kitchen counter and proceeded to hide away in the master suite while he finished his meeting. I changed my mind and decided that I wanted to listen to his melodic voice, so I crossed the hallway to one of the bedrooms. The floor creaked and he stopped mid sentence, forgetting what he. "Yah!!" He shouted into the silence. "Yah ARGHH!!!" The wordless bellow died and he felt a little better. "More scotch," he staggered to the sideboard to clutch the bottle like a lifeline. He pondered this image. 'I am drowning' he thought then aloud, "drowning my sorrows". This, too, he found ironic. He didn't usually drink. It was his wife - more accurately now his ex-wife - who liked to have her evening 'relaxer'. "Anything you can do, I can do better" His voice was cracked and harsh, redolent with pain. So he started to laugh but it sounded to him like sobbing.Time passed. The shaft of sunlight falling into the room moved slowly to one side then disappeared. The streetlights came on and still he sat, sometimes mumbling but mostly silent. In his silence he remembered.There was no fixed chronology. However hard he tried to impose some order, memories came at random. The last weeks, ten years ago, twenty. He gave up struggling and allowed his mind to wander where it would.The party..
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