Oct 28
The quality of a friendship can be measured by the amount of silence the two of you are comfortable letting pass between you when you are together.
The basement was quiet, filled only with the sound of sanding.
The two occupants seemed content not to speak, busying themselves with the boat at the centre of the room. Sanding the ribs, pausing every now and then to examine their work. Working separately and yet as one.
Occasionally the bottle of bourbon was opened and they shared a glass. Neither was drunk, but neither was entirely sober either. They seemed to spend the majority of their evenings in this way.
A cell phone rang somewhere in the dark recesses. The man did not bother to look at the caller ID before dropping it unceremoniously into the nearest pot of paint thinner. The woman rolled her eyes but accepted it, not wanting the intrusion to spoil their evening.
If she was honest, the woman could not believe the caller had not become accustomed to the man's natural reaction to such disturbances. Nothing was allowed to disturb the tranquil atmosphere of the basement. Even the television no longer worked and had a hole that looked suspiciously as though a wrench had been thrown at it.
Their time together was precious, the few moments they could spend together out of work. It felt odd to see another side of this man, but she knew she wouldn't change it for the world.
