It's a typical Saturday night. Perhaps not so typical in the fact that we're both relaxing. Right now, we have a little down time in the hectic routine that is our life. There's no heroics or fisticuffs to be found, nor any parenting or responsibility. Instead, we're doing the stuff that we should be doing at our age, like sitting in smokey bars, knocking back a few drinks, and just being stereotypical twenty-something males.
Normality is something we tend to take for granted. It just doesn't seem to jive with us. Yet, here we are. Or, here I am. Relaxed, just munching contently on pretzels while sitting at a table by the door. I'm trying not to look anxious or eager or impatient, but I am, because I'm waiting for him to return.
I can hear bits of conversation here and there as I look around the room. Conversation never seems to stop, creating a steady background buzz. The crowd of people has yet to thin out, and it doesn't look like it'll happen anytime soon. The night is just getting started with people laughing and talking and moving. He just went to get drinks... about... well some time ago. I wasn't sure when he left, but surely, it wouldn't take this long.
Finally, I spot him. A dark figure merely idling by the bar. He looks... inconspicuous with dark hair, dark clothes, average height and weight. The only feature that ever stands out is his eyes. A bright blue not a muted brown or washed out hazel. They're stricking to say the least. He's toned and built, muscular but not ripped. Like me, built more like an athlete than a bodybuilder or a meta. Patience seems to suit him. He looks calm with no traces of impatience or annoyance. He's simply waiting. Standing still. Just taking in the scene.
That would bore the hell out of me. I can do the waiting and watching thing, with good enough reason, that is. Maybe, I'm just not that introverted, but rather the center of attention, striking up conversation or small talk just so I don't have to be alone for a few seconds. Attention whore, perhaps, but it sure as hell isn't boring.
He turns back to my direction with two full mugs precariously balanced in his hands. He takes steady even steps with a casual stride. The bastard seems to do everything at normal pace. Chairs scrape on the floor as people move by, squeezing into small walking areas with haste. He deftly moves to avoid collision. Unfortunately, alcohol spills over the rim, unto his hands, and subsequently the floor.
I'd be pissed.
Yet, he isn't. The person who caused it, gives a hurried apology as he rushes past. I swear I can see Dick shrug and nod. His face isn't set in anger or annoyance. Rather he has this look that seems to say, 'Well, I suppose these things happen.' He's simply... calm.... cool... collected. It's a little accident for him, something not even worth mentioning ten minutes later and certainly not worth brooding about. Or getting pissed.
Let's face it, boys and girls. Dick's just a better person than me. Then, hasn't it always been so?
We're exact opposites sometimes. It's really strange to think we'd even be friends for a long time, let alone more. We've got bonds forged by time and trials. And if you think about it, stuff like that isn't easily broken. Sometimes, I used to wonder if I could be like him. He's everyone's golden boy. What's not to love? He goes through life seemingly at his own pace. Modest. Calm. Collected and cool. The traits are genuine too, something rarely found in people nowadays
Sometimes, I wonder if I could ever be like him and the image he portrays.
I know better. He's not perfect. Like everyone, he has his flaws and his quirks. He's got his scars and crosses that he bears. Even so, his attitude isn't an act. Nor is it a mindset. It's not something he thinks about. It's just the way he is. He couldn't ever be anything else, it's just not in his nature.
He's selfless and giving, and at the moment I happen to be the fortunate soul to receive it all. Finally, he's back at the table and he's sliding me the glass that didn't tip. The one without the beer dripping down the side. He sets the other one down, and grabs a bar napkin to wipe his hand.
"Quick enough for you?" he questions as he settles back down.
I take a swig of the beer. Guinness is a Godsend, no doubt about it. "Nah," I say, "you're slacking Robbie, man."
He shakes his head in amusement and tries not to roll his eyes. Breaking eye contact, he goes to take a drink. I watch his every movement with a content smirk upon my face. It's good to tease sometimes. After all, I can't have him getting egotistical on me now, can I?