Before Twenty Years
The dim light of the streetlamps lit up Bob's way as he walked through the deserted streets of New York. The lights grew less and less frequent until he spotted a restaurant. It's neon sign read "Big Joe" Brady's. His mouth watered as he thought of the steak he wouldn't have to pay for. Jimmy would surely pay. Bob again pondered their friendship and concluded that there must be some inexplicable bond between them. He didn't know what it was, but he decided he would have time to care later.
He pushed the door open and scanned the interior. It was considerably warmer inside, and it smelled sweetly of a myriad heavenly dishes. The restaurant was dimly lit. It wasn't as loud as the other restaurants. People generally talked in low voices. That is, people who weren't drunk. Those who were waiting for tables sat at the bar. Bob saw his friend there, sipping a glass of water. Bob smiled to himself and approached Jimmy. He tapped Jimmy on the shoulder. Jimmy turned around and swallowed his water.
"Is anyone following you?" he grinned.
"The whole world," Bob grinned back.
Both men laughed. Jimmy stopped well before Bob did.
"Why did you call me here?" said Jimmy.
"I have something to tell you," Bob replied.
"Yeah, I figured."
"But," said Bob, "we should discuss the matter over drinks. I'll have a whiskey," he said to the bartender.
"I thought your father doesn't allow you to drink," Jimmy frowned.
"He says I can't drink until I 'grow up'," sneered Bob. "My father says a lot of things."
"You seem old enough to know what you're doing," Jimmy said sarcastically.
"Growing old is inevitable; growing up is optional," Bob smiled. "Forget my father," he said and drank.
"Your table is ready," a waitress said to Jimmy before he could berate his friend.
"Thank you," he said and didn't take his eyes off Bob, who didn't take his eyes off the waitress. They took their drinks and sat down.
"What did you want to tell me?" said Jimmy.
Bob sighed. He opened his mouth to speak, but the waitress came to their table and interrupted him before he could start.
"What would you like, gentlemen?" the waitress said, more to Jimmy than to Bob.
"I'll have the salad like last time," Jimmy said.
"Steak for me," Bob said before the waitress could ask him.
"I know…" the waitress said under her breath and left them.
"You're having steak?" Jimmy said.
"I call it my need to live," Bob said. "On a similar subject…" he said, more seriously than before. He leaned on the table, propped on his elbows. Jimmy copied him.
"I'm leaving, Jim."
Jimmy recoiled as if Bob had just hit him in the face with a frying pan. His eyes flickered rapidly back and forth between each of Bob's, mouth agape, as if trying to catch one of them lying. Bob didn't move. His expression didn't change either. Seconds as long as hours passed in silence. Neither moved. Bob, although having practiced this moment for weeks, was a little unnerved.
"Y-You can't leave New York," Jimmy said finally. "Where would you go?"
"West," said Bob. "I'll go to Chicago, I'll go to Detroit, I'm going to make a fortune!"
He had a glint in his eyes. The one he had when he had something on his mind, the one he had when nothing could stop him.
"You can make a fortune in New York, too!" Jimmy said.
"It's more… vigorous in the West," Bob said serenely. "You've always wanted to die peacefully in your bed," he smirked.
The waitress butted in again.
"Salad…" said she, "and a steak…"
She set the plates down on the table and left. Bob raised his eyebrows at Jimmy and picked up his knife and fork.
"You can't…" Jimmy said weakly, looking down at the table.
"You can come with me," Bob said through a mouthful of steak. Jimmy looked up at him.
"I'm not leaving New York," he snapped. "I have too much to lose."
"You have more to gain!" Bob said, digging his knife vertically into his steak.
They spent what seemed like eternity arguing the point. Try as they might, they couldn't reach a diplomatic solution. Almost the entire restaurant was now staring at them, seeing as they were the loudest of the lot.
"This is going nowhere," Jimmy said, rubbing his head.
"I'm going West," Bob randomly put in. Jimmy glared at him.
"There's nothing there… You have New York. What more could you possibly want?" he growled.
"You'll see," said Bob. He took some money from his pocket and tossed it on the table. Wordlessly, he walked to the restaurant door. Behind him, Jimmy stood up and managed to swing him around.
"Fine," he said. "Fine. You go West and I'll stay put and we'll see whose dreams will come true. But, promise me this: Promise you'll meet me right here in exactly twenty years."
Bob looked at his best friend's face.
"I will," he said. Then he embraced Jimmy like a brother.
"Good luck," he said.
"You too," Jim said.
Bob wheeled around and left without a backwards glance. The clouds in the night sky thickened and soon, heavy rain drenched his coat as he strode away from the restaurant, away from the light, away from Jimmy.