He was early. He sat, ordered a draft and took a sip. His mind drifted back to those carefree days of their youth. They grew up together. And did what little boys did. They joined Cubs, each earning every badge there was. They played Little League. Best friends on the same team. Pitcher and Catcher. They destroyed the opposition. He smiled to himself over memories of Grade school together. They were a couple of holy terrors, inseparable and always getting into trouble.
But they had lost touch, thought Bill. Stephen and his family had moved away to California, half a world away from Jersey. It might as well have been the moon. Sure they had written each other. But it seems each letter from Stephen got shorter until finally they had stopped altogether. But he couldn't blame him, thought Bill. "I was no Hemingway myself."
And then, out of the blue, after all these years, a letter from Stephen. He was coming to town on business and thought it'd be great to meet up and catch up on all that had transpired since high school. He suggested this pub, where, underage and using false ID they used to sip an illicit pint or two.
So Bill waited gazing out the window for Stephen to arrive. A shadow passed over him. Thinking it was the waiter he looked up to order another beer but it was a woman. A strikingly beautiful woman. Yet there was something oddly familiar about her although Bill just couldn't place it.
"Bill?" she inquired. And then it hit home. "Stephen?" he gasped. "It's Stephanie now" she whispered. "I'm not that guy anymore."
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