Thirty years old. It’s all downhill from here, they say. Don’t reckon “they” know what they’re talking about. Save perhaps the fact that I’m definitely at a peak. Think I might stay here for a while. Turn this peak into a plateau. Better yet another peak.
Strange how a single evening in a number of bars can feel like home. That one probably sends chills up the spine of those back home. Fact is, it’s not the bars that did it. Or the booze in them. Just the people. Three kind faces and not masks. There were others. Some I knew. Some I’d never met – have stopped remembering though I learned their names. But these three remain and always will. To mark this monumental evening and a number of others I imagine along the way. Like an etch a sketch with its knobs pulled off and superglued to some immovable object, they cannot be erased. In the same way, I suspect my face may be superimposed on memories of theirs.
I wonder what it would be like to have the footage from their three camera setup. Focused in on me, could they see the love painted bright across my eyes, piercing the dimlit bar and glowing brighter with every bout of laughter? Spirits do not dull the eyes of friends like these. They stoke the fire within that it may keep my heart warm in their absence.