With the rest of the partygoers taking shots of tequila, Jack and Javi were left alone.
“I meant to call,” Javi said. “But they’ve kept us so busy. This is literally my first break in months.”
“It sounds like it’s going really well,” Jack said.
“It is.” Javi smiled. “So, how angry was your uncle after what you did?”
“I think he’s fully renounced me as his nephew,” Jack said. “But at least he stopped talking about my string.”
Javi nodded. “You know, you once told me that I was twice the man you are, but . . . that sure took a lot of balls,” he said, laughing.
The debris from their fight still lingered in the air, tainting their words with an awkwardness that never existed before, and Jack wondered if things would ever return to normal, to the smooth and easy nature of their early days as friends.
“Hey, isn’t that old vets’ bar somewhere around here?” Jack asked. “You want to grab a beer?”
The two of them stealthily retrieved their coats and snuck out the front door.
Just a few blocks away stood an old-timey dive, with dark wood walls and dark green booths and all manner of military paraphernalia hanging from the ceiling. It was almost exclusively patronized by veterans, and whenever Jack and Javi entered the bar in their uniforms or old academy garb, they were welcomed heartily with tipped caps and raised mugs. Javi was wearing his army jacket, so tonight would be no exception.
The crowd at the bar was thinner than usual, mostly comprised of elderly men wearing caps embroidered with Vietnam or Korea, plus a few younger soldiers in camo.
On the television screens above, the celebrities hosting the night’s entertainment were reflecting on the year that was ending.
“Well, to say this year has been a momentous one would be quite the understatement,” one of the well-coiffed men joked. “Here’s hoping that next year doesn’t bring any new surprises.”
Jack and Javi settled into a booth and spent the next hour reminiscing about their college years—the classes they had almost failed, the girls they should have asked out, the training days when they had their asses kicked so hard that it hurt to sit down and stand up. The memories somehow seemed further in the past than they actually were, and Jack wondered if this was adulthood, if life moved so much more quickly after you’ve grown up.
It was Jack who ultimately brought up the fight. “I’m sorry it took me so long to do something,” he said. “To do anything.”
“And there’s plenty more to be done,” Javi said. “But I lashed out at you for a lot of reasons, a lot of hurt, not all of which were your fault. And maybe I should have taken more responsibility for the switch, and the pressure it put on both of us. It’s not like you forced me to do it. It was mutual.”
“But you don’t regret it?” Jack asked.
Javi took a sip of his beer, considering the question.
“I love the other guys I’m training with, and I have a lot of respect for the officers, so it’s really tough to keep lying to them. But I wouldn’t be there without it,” Javi said. “I wouldn’t be able to save people’s lives, someday.” He smiled and shook his head, like he almost couldn’t believe it. “And no matter what went down after the switch, I guess I’ll always have you to thank for that.”
“Well, like you said, it wasn’t just me. It was mutual.”
Eventually the bartender started shouting across the room, “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!” The dozen or so strangers in the bar exchanged eager glances, joining in on the count. “Six! Five! Four!”
Jack reached into his pocket for the two small kazoos he had stolen from the party earlier, handing one to Javi.
“Three! Two! One!”
The two friends blew on their mini-instruments, while the rest of the crowd cheered, “Happy New Year!” in unison.
Then, at the farthest end of the bar, one of the oldest gentlemen began to sing, timidly and off-key, but with an earnestness that held everyone’s attention.
Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?
Soon enough, every voice in the place was lifting his up.
Should old acquaintance be forgot, and days of auld lang syne?
As he sang, Jack thought about his aunt and uncle, who were no doubt clinking champagne flutes at a mansion just a few miles away, and about Wes Johnson, perhaps home with his family, resting after months on the road, wondering if he could still win.
We too have paddled in the stream, from morning sun to night.