An Old Friend

By R.J. Tennyson

There was a knock at the door. Harold dragged himself from his chair and answered it.

“Hello Old Friend,” said the visitor. It took Harold a few moments to place the face that stared back at him.

“Well I never,” Harold said. “Billy Gold! It’s been years since I’ve seen you!”

“Yes, it’s been a while. Are you going to invite me in, or do I have stand out here in the cold?”

“How rude of me. Come in. Come in,” Harold replied. “Big Billy Gold. Well I never.”

Harold showed Billy through to the lounge room and they sat down. The walls of the room where covered in photos; memories of Harold’s life.

“So what brings you to town?”

“Oh I was just passing through. Thought I’d stop by to see how my old friend is doing,” Billy said. “How’s Bev?”

Harold dropped his head and stared at a spot six-inches in front of where his feet sat. Tears began to well in his eyes.

“Bev passed away in 2005,” he whispered. “Cancer. She fought hard, but when it’s your time it’s… well you know.”

“Harold, I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I would have…” The two friends both stared down now – quiet, not knowing what to say. Finally, Billy broke the awkward silence.

“Remember that time when we were teenagers and we blew old Mrs Franklins letterbox sky-high?”

“What do you mean we?” Harold laughed. “From what I remember it was you.”

“I might have lit it, but it was your idea. Her husband chased us down the street screaming like a madman.” Both men roared with laughter. “You were the crazy one, Billy.”

“I think we both were!” Again, an awkward silence formed between them, and again it was Billy who broke it. “So Harold, have you had a good life?” Harold looked around at the framed memories that covered the walls of the room. He didn’t need to think about his answer.

“I’ve had an exceptional life. I worked forty-nine years on the railway. I retired thirty-two years ago and draw a comfortable pension. I was married to the love of my life for sixty-five years, before God took her away. I have a beautiful daughter, three wonderful grandchildren, and my sixth great-grandchild is due in May. Physically I am still as strong as an ox,” he said. “So yes, I’ve had a good life. A bloody good life.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Old Friend,” Billy said.

***

Harold’s daughter stood in the doorway with the duty nurse. “How is Dad doing today?” she asked.

“Better than yesterday, not as good as the day before,” the nurse replied. “When I spoke to him earlier he didn’t know who I was. He’s spent most of today sitting in his chair, talking to himself. He kept mentioning someone named Billy Gold. Do you know who that is?”

“Billy was his best friend. He died in Dad’s arms on the Kokoda in ’42.”