It’s finally arrived, the pint.
The pint you’d both been threatening for how long now? Six months? Nine months? It canny be that long, surely?
Aye, actually, his wedding had been in summer last year. That was nine months ago, this is the pint that you’d so earnestly suggested. You’d held the big man in your drunken arms, and with hot breath in his ear, you’d spoken with ferocity. It was then that the pint had transcended from suggestion to promise.
You’d left him out on the white gravel in front of the hotel. His new wife beside him, the happiest he’d ever been, waving off their guests as they’d boarded the buses home.
You remembered your kilt swishing in the cool night air as you’d left them and climbed on. One last wave from the steps before you found a seat by the window and rested your sweaty head against it. As merry songs arose from pockets of the bus, you told yourself you’d see him again soon.
The initial time preceding the wedding was obviously too soon for the pint, but those months were truly the golden ones. Long nights, nicer weather, ample opportunity and hours to grab the pint, or a walk, or some dinner. You lived thirty minutes away, though, so you convinced yourself it was too hard during the week.
He’d had his honeymoon; you’d had your own summer holiday. And then? Work, weekends recovering from work, weekends with other friends, weekends with family, and finally, winter. No golden nights, no golden pints.
But now, nine months on, on a golden night, you had one another. As you walked down to the pub in your hometown, you tried to swallow the small bout of anxiety that had crept up inside of you. You detested it. As a man of thirty-three, you were struggling to understand why you had grown to be like this. Subtly nervous about meeting someone you had known all your life. Someone who had already seen you naked, seen you cry, seen you in love, seen you lose it, seen you nutted.
When spending time with someone from your past, it was hard not to reflect on the person you used to be. Carefree and confident, you hadn’t known what anxiety was. You’d heard of it, but it wasn’t something that used to exhaust you en route to a pint with one of your oldest friends. And yet, maybe that was just how adulthood was for most people, maybe it was just the human condition.
You opened the door of the pub to a euphony of chatter and laughter, and your body was flooded with warmth and cheerfulness. You looked towards the bar and recognised the sandy hair on the back of your best friend’s head. A white polo shirt hugged his stout frame, and his gaze shifted from left to right as he scanned the beer taps.
You walked up to him and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned around, and for the first time in months, you saw the big, happy face of one of your oldest friends. With an almighty smile, he wrapped his thick arms around you.
‘My mannn!’
He planted a wet kiss on your cheek, and then, it was as it was always going to be.
He pulled away, held you at arm’s length, and looked you up and down.
‘Fuck sake, you wearing that shirt for a bet?’
‘Shut it,’ you laughed, moving to twist one of his nipples.
He chuckled, and with the instincts of a teenager, raised his hand to brush yours away.
‘Here!’
He slung an arm over your shoulder and spun you around. He pointed to the beer tap on the far right of the bar.
‘Look what they’ve got back in!’
You looked across to see the royal blue badge of Furstenberg Pilsner, the only German Lager available on tap in the town. You ordered, but they were changing the keg; they would bring the pints over.
You wandered over to the alcove of the pub, and your old table was free. The place where you had sat years ago and spoken of girls, tales from school, your grand plans for each other, The Biff, and fitba. Now? Your wives, tales from work, your grand plans for yourself, Fontaines DC, and fitba. The beautiful game, and the team you support, is one of life’s only constants.
Came the beer. You both sat entranced, as a beer mat, and then the pint was placed down in front of you. The head was like whipped cream, a white crown atop the golden nectar. You clinked your glasses together, and drank deeply, and never had you had a drink like it.
Your chat, as it usually did, soon found comfort and laughter in stories of ‘do you remember?’ Someone had once said that this was the lowest form of conversation, but you disagreed.
Few people burn brightly in your life from its beginning to end; you should always cherish the times when they did. Talk of the times you saw one another naked, crying, in love, losing it, or nutted.
After, warmed by the cloak of a four-pint buzz, another promise was made.
‘We’ll try to get something sorted for next month’
You knew this wouldn’t be the case, but that was ok.
You embraced deeply, and with your world as settled as it could possibly be in that moment, you both walked in opposite directions.