"A good friendship doesn't notice the silence," Christopher sighed contently. It was a hot autumn day, and the flies were buzzing around his face, trying to decide if they should land on his wrinkled, weathered face or on his companion, also sitting with a fishing pole, loosely held in his lax hands. Christopher mindlessly waved at them, the bucket of dying, slimy fish that he had already caught between them.
"The sunfish are going to be awfully tasty. They're fat this time of year," Christopher said, with an impish glint in his eye, "Do you remember that summer when we were just kids? Must've been only nine or ten. Heh. It was you, me, and Tommy Bulbringer. Remember that, Joe? You insisted that you could catch the biggest trout in the lake, and when you caught nothing but them sunfish, you tried to convince us they were trout!"
Christopher's laughter rang out over the silent lake; the dull rush of the highway nearby temporarily silenced by the joy of old memories.
"You know, these past two years since you've moved in with me, has been the best two years since Helen died. I still miss her something awful. I know that you must miss Gina the same way. She was a gutsy gal. I told her on her wedding day 'Gina, Joe is a hardheaded fool, so don't let him bulldoze over you', and by golly, I don't think she ever did. Not that she was the fussy, nagging type, but you were a changed man, once you married her. Helen was like that for me."
Christopher stared eyelessly at the lake; Helen's soft, half-remembered smile was like a caress on Christopher's mind. He was never quite aware of how much he loved Helen until she died, and by then, it was too late to do all the things that he wanted to do. Half resentfully, he couldn't believe that his Helen could have left him so abruptly. She had always been by his side. But Christopher thought ruefully, his Helen would wait for him. He almost couldn’t wait to see her again.
"I miss her Joe."
And the two of them sat in companionable silence, the monotonous droning of the flies, coupled with the heat of the day, making the entire lake drowsy and dreamlike.
Sometime during the heat of the day, Christopher broke out some sandwiches and ate one. He offered one to Joe, even though he knew that Joe wouldn't take it. Chewing on the warm, flat sandwich, Christopher chuckled.
"Remember that day when you moved to Detroit with Gina? I can tell you this now Joe, but…well, I wanted to cry. When Gina and Helen started their bawlin', I knew that I wasn't far behind. But little Joe Jr. started to fuss because he was hungry, and that's when you realized that you packed all the food and diapers at the very back of the truck! Oh I laughing so hard that I don't think anyone noticed the tears.
"Well, maybe you did. You were always more like a brother to me, then my own family. You know, even though we never really talked much after you started moving about, then I became so busy with the hardware store and Helen's illness and the kids…but we never really lost touch did we? Helen called it 'pauses in conversation'. That's real pretty, isn't it?
"Anyways Joe, I'm not good at stuff like this, but I've been thinking about my Helen recently. And well, I never said the things I ought to when she was around, and well, I don’t want to wait until I'm dead to tell you all these things…"
Christopher blushed under his sun leathered skin. "You know I'm not good at emotional stuff like this. But well. Ah…I just wanted to say thanks for moving in with me. I know that you had your own reasons, with Gina gone and the kids all grown. I know that you wanted to come back to the old hometown. But it meant a lot to me for you to move in with me.
The effort of that emotional outpouring seemed too much for Christopher, as he blushed deeply, and drank deeply of his warm, flat beer. There was a infinitesimal tug on the end of his fishing pole, and with a sensitivity of touch, long born from many warm days and nights, sitting in the exact spot, fishing these same fish, mindless to the sprawling development that sprung up around him, he felt it, and teased the fish closer to the shore. Once he felt a stronger tug, which meant the fish had bitten, Christopher reeled it in.
It was another sunfish.
Without wasted movements, Christopher unhooked it, and tossed it, flopping and gasping into the bucket. He attached more bait and adjusted the weights and expertly tossed the line back out to the lake.
Christopher glanced at Joe's still fishing pole and sighed. All those years living in the big cities had killed Joe's feel for the fish. Christopher felt sorry for him, the sorrow that one would feel for a friend that didn't get a particularly funny joke. It was the pity that one feel for any disability, regardless how small. Christopher kindly slapped Joe on the back and opened a new can of beer.
The roar of the nearby highway increased as rush-hour traffic came roaring through, with the loud, rude metal, and the discourteous engines. The flies seemed to find offense at this, and buzzed even louder. The crickets that had been smartly resting in their invisible underground nests, came out and added their objections to the hum.
He didn't see nor hear any of this, lost in his own world of yellowed memories and aging thoughts. Half remembered, as if from a movie or a dream, yet, so vividly real as to cause him to clutch his chest in pain, Christopher wept.
He saw the hazy dream of his childhood, running outside in the hot and thick summer air. Looking forlornly at the house next door. His best friend at six…what was his name? Tony? Timmy? Tommy. That's it. It was Tommy. He had just moved away and Christopher wasn't sure if he was ready to accept a new boy as his new friend. But then Joe came racing out of the moving van, happily dragging Christopher into the exciting adventure of his life.
He remembered one time when they hid up in the rafters of church on Sunday. However, the church was very old, and the wooden beams of the rafters were weakened from years of wet winters and even wetter springs. When Christopher leaned too close to the center of the rafters, he promptly fell through. Right onto the pulpit where Reverend Cartwell was preaching on man's fall from grace. Oh the look on everyone's face! Especially Reverend Cartwell! Joe had immediately rushed to Christopher and insisted that it wasn't Christopher's fault. At the end, both of them got punished.
Christopher chuckled at the memory of a sore behind for nearly a week. They were good times. The memories that held time still, and gave the heart the ache of old times never regain again. Memories that once spoken, the fragile magic would be lost.
If at times Christopher wondered about Joe's life in the cities and traveling the world, he never asked. His world consisted of his hardware store, long sold at the urging of his children, who too have moved away, his house, and this lake that was slowly choked of life from the polluted run-offs of the nearby factories. He supposed that he missed never living the exciting life of busy clubs, frantic engagements and parties, and the thrill of a powerful job. But he had come in terms with all of that. He was content with his life. He had a beautiful, capable woman for a wife, and he always earned enough for his family. Even to send three rather dull children to college. He loved them all. Especially Helen, who stood by him through everything, and never asked from him more then he could give. He wished he could have given more to her.
She would be vacuuming and cleaning like a madwoman, thought Christopher. She always cleaned the house when he had gone fishing. Helen always claimed that she couldn't properly clean a house knowing that he was still inside or ready to come home soon. Then she would be shelling the peas and boiling the potatoes and stirring up a batch of her special batter for the fish when he got home. Helen made the best fish dinner, hot and flaky and juicy.
He could see her in her yellow dress with the little lace trim. Standing over the skin, brushing her hair away from her face and her turning to greet him as he came in through the kitchen door.
Christopher sighed. There were always regrets, he supposed. He glanced at Joe and smiled. At least he still had Joe here.
Christopher's beloved Helen had died five years ago. He would have quietly faded after her, but then Joe called him one night. Gina too had died, and after the yawning years and mileage between them, they instantly connected as if they never parted.
Pauses in conversation, Helen called it. Christopher was never very good with words, but his Helen hit it right on the nail.
Christopher drank deeply of his beer. He looked at the pail of the fish. "Looks like fish tonight," Christopher chuckled. "Too bad Helen ain't here to fix up them fish. Her batter can't be matched, but I suppose I make a fair fish dinner myself.
"Remember the time when Harvey Buckwald was over for Christmas dinner? Where you there? Yeah, yes you were. It was right after you married Gina. Heh. Helen never liked Harvey much. He had a crush on her, you see, but he was a good man and without much family. But just to spite him, Helen wouldn't make a ham. Instead she went to the market to get fish instead! Remember Joe? It backfired, because he wouldn't stop eating the fish. Took four helpings if I remember. Was sick as a dog. Helen never made fish that I didn't catch personally after that. My, Helen was mad, and Harvey! He never came over to my house for dinner after that!
"But then, anyone that would eat four helpings of fried fish was bound to get sick even if the fish was good!" Christopher took another sip of the beer as he stopped laughing. He had forgotten about that Christmas.
Christopher took another deep drought of the beer, finishing off the can. He reached over and opened up another can, drinking it deeply, as if the very action of drinking the beer could block his memories and thoughts. But stealthily it came, like perfume, lingering in the air. Unbidden, the tears came, rolling silently down his dry and leathery face.
"Joe, oh Joe! I'm sorry. You…you've given me so much. I'm so sorry Joe. I'm so very sorry Joe. I…I…I loved Gina… your Gina! I think she loved me too! But Joe, believe me Joe, when I tell you that we never touched. Our love for you was worth greater then anything else. You know that Joe, don't you?"
Christopher sobbed into his dirt encrusted hands, as he felt his heart breaking. He didn't know what possessed him to confess his love of Gina now, after so much time. But the heat, and the beer and the memories…"Please don't hate me Joe. I loved Helen. I can't ever not love Helen. She was so stable and strong and always there. She was a good wife, mother and a better friend to me then I deserved. But when you came back from college, with beautiful, exotic Gina…I loved her like I knew I could ever love Helen…but I never touched her! As much as I wanted to, I never touched her!
"You knew didn't you? But through it all, you were still my friend. Oh Joe, can you ever forgive me Joe?"
Christopher cried a little more, but then swallowed his sobs and straightened himself up. "Thank you Joe…I knew that you would understand. You're…you're a good friend Joe." Christopher opened up another beer and gulped it greedily. He took a deep sigh, and turned to Joe as if to say something more, but hesitated, and then turned back to his fishing pole, which he had dropped during his uncharacteristic burst of emotion.
"You know," he said, staring straight ahead, almost as if he was embarrassed to face Joe, "I once nearly caught a twenty pound trout in this lake. I was with my youngest, Joey, and we were all packed up and ready to go when he threw the rod in one last time. I was fussing at him, because Helen would have had dinner on the table, and she gets so upset when I'm late. But as I hollered at him to get, his pole just about bent in half. I dumped my gear on the ground, and rushed toward Joey, and the both of us pulled and fought and dragged that fish, kickin' and screaming the entire way. We finally got it by the shore, I could see it's shadow in the water, when Joey tried to make a break for it, and lifted him in. The trout flashed in the sun, like they do on TV, and then the line broke and he splashed back into the water and got away before I could get a net under him.
"Heh. I suppose the trout is dead by now. There's nothing here but sunfish anymore, but every time I come, I half expect to catch it again."
Christopher got out another warm sandwich and bit into it. "I've been coming to this lake for over seventy years now. I've been coming here all my life. I like it, it's pretty peaceful."
The bright sun was starting to turn more yellow then the white hot brilliance of the noon sun, and the shadows started growing long. Christopher didn't really notice, eating the warm, bland sandwiches and drinking the equally warm, stale beer. Occasionally when the fish bit, he would reel them in and throw them, flopping, into the bucket beside him.
"Do you think they will be there?" Christopher asked unexpectedly after an especially long period of silence, as he watched the setting sun, cast long, forlorn shadows across the lake. It was not yet dusk, but the day was coming to a close, and Christopher was feeling the end of yet another day. "Helen and Gina I mean. In Heaven. I…I've never had many real close friends in my life. Oh sure, the town knows me and everyone can recognize me. But the three of you. Well, you three mean a lot to me. I mean that.
"I don't mind them being gone. It's just like they've gone on vacation or something. I miss them an awful lot, but it's bearable. It's bearable. I'm just waiting now." Christopher leaned back, wincing at the pain in his back from being in one position for so long. "I know that when we meet again, it'll be as if we've never been apart. Pauses in conversation Helen used to call it. Pauses in conversation."
Christopher gave a reflective sigh, and watched the sun set, the long shadows slowly reaching out, like a cover pulled over the world, ready to snuggle down for a good night's sleep after a full and fulfilling day. The lake became a brilliant red in the last moments before the sun has set, the last bright burst of rosy light. Christopher gave another sigh, as he packed up the fishing gear, stowing away the rods carefully. He tossed the last of the beer and sandwiches into the bucket of now dead and slimy fish, and carried it to the car. Then he came back down the hill to where Joe was still sitting, having not moved since he was put there earlier in the morning.
Christopher shooed away the last of the flies and the mosquitoes, not that any of that would bother Joe, and tenderly, like a mother with a child, carried the brittle, dried husk to the car and carefully buckled him into the seat.
Whistling in anticipation of the juicy fish dinner, Christopher got into the driver's side, and drove home. The dark windows of his house greeted him, but Christopher didn't mind. He knew that for all the silence that he currently had to endure, it was nothing more then just a pause in conversation.