The elderly man sat on his favorite bench in Central Park, reading the newspaper, as he did every afternoon. Corrupt politicians, crime, inflation, same old same old, he thought to himself. Guess King Solomon was right after all; there is nothing new under the sun. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair and turned to the sports section.
A shadow blocked the light. He looked up to see an old friend, a tall, slender, frail man with impossibly thick spectacles, leaning heavily on a cane. He smiled and made room on the bench.
"So, how's life been treating you, old buddy?" asked the first man.
"Quite well," replied the taller man. "And you?"
"Enh," he replied noncommittally. "How's the missus?"
"Wonderful as always. She puts up with me." A slight pause. "Our daughter's got her own practice now. Pediatrics. A good thing, considering we have another grandchild on the way."
"Great news, bud. My own girl's got her hands full dealing with her kids and the business, and no thanks to that deadbeat son-in- law of mine." His voice hardened in anger. "S.O.B. ran out on her with a younger woman."
"I'm sorry to hear that. She deserves better than him."
"You know it. Too bad your son's already married, or I'd fix them up."
"You always were an incurable matchmaker."
"Hey, I got you and your wife together, didn't I?" A sly grin spread across the shorter man's face. "Though it took you long enough to figure it out, I knew you two were meant for each other."
"You were right," the taller man smiled, a gleam in his cataract-clouded blue eyes. He paused for a moment. "I wish I'd married her sooner. I would've liked to have had more children."
"Twins weren't enough for you? Sheesh, you are a glutton for punishment."
A quiet, shared laugh, then silence descended. The two men looked through the park at the city, ever-changing, but always the same. They said nothing for a long time, content to share in each other's company.
"You know what today is, don't you?" asked the tall man.
The shorter man thought for a minute. "Birthday? Anniversary?"
"Anniversary. The fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the company."
Green eyes snapped wide open. "Good God, has it really been that long?!" Of course it had been that long. His mind drifted back fifty years. He remembered losing their teaching jobs, setting up a dubious business with minimal capital and only the expertise of his two best friends to keep them afloat. Despite the odds, they had succeeded, even bringing in a secretary and another colleague.
Much water had gone under the bridge since then. He'd married their first client, and stood in as best man as his best friend married their secretary. Their other two friends found wives of their own as well. There was a regular baby boom--the old building frequently rang with the pitter-patter of tiny feet. All too soon, the children had grown up; some of them followed in their fathers' footsteps, other found their own paths.
And now a new generation was here. He remembered the thrill he felt as he held his first grandchild, and the look in his friend's eyes as he beheld his own grandson. The torch had been passed.
"Anything special planned today?" asked the green-eyed man.
"Nothing much. Just taking Janine out to dinner at her favorite place."
"I'm going to see Zed later today. He's been down since his wife..."
"...Yes." Silence again. The sun moved in the sky.
"Tex has been working with his daughter on the new equipment. Can't get him away from that old dump, can we?"
"You did say he was the heart of the team." The taller man smiled. "Those were good days."
"Wouldn't trade 'em for anything in the world. No regrets here, buddy."
"None here, either, Peter. My life has been blessed."
"The best is yet to come, Spengs." He rose from the bench, wincing slightly at the stiffness caused by sitting too long, and extended a hand to help his friend up. "C'mon, we don't want to keep the wives waiting."
Time it was, and what a time it was,
It was a time of innocence, a time of confidences.
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph.
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you.
--Paul Simon
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