"I love you, man," said the man in his mid thirties to his evening's companion as the two men hugged
quickly and awkwardly. Amounting to more of a mutual pat on the back.
"Me too, man," replied his mid thirties friend.
That was it, no lingering goodbyes; no I'll call you. Just goodnight.
The two old codgers watching from their barstools barely raised their heads from the deep
contemplation that the label on a bottle of beer can inspire.
I looked up and down the bar. My bar scene included my two codgers, two forty-somethings and a
solo thirty-something busily chewing nicorette gum at the far end. A sausage fest, as my
twice-divorced female co-worker would say, with barely concealed bitterness. Guys night out
someone else might say. Both of which mean sports, cars and girl talk.
"Hey do you get the Warriors," said my gum chewer, who was carefully wrapping his used gum in
cocktail napkins that he then piled up next to his beer.
A switch in channels sparked conversation.
"Nelson's terrible," said one of my beer-drinking codgers.
"He's served his purpose," said his companion, who I now noticed was wearing a Fire Dept t-shirt.
"You guys from around here," I asked bored with discussions involving the woeful Warriors.
"I have a condo down the road," said the former fireman. Gesturing to his friend, "He lives in
Sacramento and comes down to visit every once in a while," he added.
"You know," said his companion. "No more career, no more ex-wife, no more kids, now I can do
whatever I want."
"We usually play a couple rounds of golf, have some dinner, then maybe shoot some pool, or grab a
couple of beers," said his former fireman friend raising his partially peeled beer bottle in salute before
taking a sip.
After several minutes of semi-professional basketball, the gum chewer piped up.
"Is this a HD television?" he asked.
The next twenty minutes of conversation involved all the intricacies of HD TV, with everybody at the bar
weighing in. Brands were discussed, resolution covered as well as price and availability.
In the momentary lull that followed, beers were ordered.
"A shame about Pitt," said one of the forty somethings further down.
Twenty more minutes on NCAA basketball followed, with more in depth analysis and opinion.
Two women passed by on their way out from the restaurant. They stopped at the front door and with
much fanfare they kissed and hugged goodbye. Promises to call were made, tears were shed, more
hugs and a lingering embrace while a final "great to see you" was exchanged.
The men at the bar appeared unmoved.
"Women," said the fireman's companion with a snort. After which all the men at the bar took long sips
of their drinks, as if on a pre-arranged cue.
"They always want you to be what your not," said the former fireman.
Another twenty minutes of conversation followed, with all the foibles of the sweeter sex discussed in
detail. Much analysis, and opinion was offered.
"Who needs them," said the former fireman.
"You can't spend your whole pretending to be something your not," said the man's companion.
Another raising of glasses by the little group echoed the sentiments of these men on this particular
night.
As the evening gradually slipped away, so did the men. Slowly it started, with the forty-somethings
furthest down the bar. A fist bump was all that was offered at the door. When the gum chewer left, he
picked up his fist-sized ball of napkins and I thanked him with a nod.
My two codgers were the last to leave.
"Well I think we covered everything," said the former fireman.
"Except cars," said his companion.
I started to clean up the tiny bits of beer bottle label still on the bar as they wandered over to the door.
"I love you man," said the former fireman.
"I love you too," said his companion.
A momentary pause and then the former fireman leaned in and gave his companion a peck on the
cheek.
As the two men walked out into the night, hand in hand. I realized several things.
1. When they said, "I love you man." They really, really meant it.
2. Sometimes when we listen, we might not be hearing what is actually being said.
3. You cannot judge books by their covers.
4. You can never escape who you really are.