Lemonade

Lemonade.
Angus walked into the caf? at 4 o'clock PM, just as he did every
Thursday
evening. Frankie, the owner, waved a cheery hello from behind the
counter and
immediately started preparing Angus' order. Angus retreated to his
usual booth and
sat and waited for his order and the arrival of Magnus. As usual the
timing of both
was immaculate, Frankie brought over the two lemonades just as Magnus
strode in the
door and, by the time Magnus had slid into the seat opposite Angus',
Frankie had
retired back to his station behind the bar. Every Thursday evening they
went through the same routine, two old friends catching up over a cool
lemonade with a single wedge of fresh lemon and plenty of ice. It was a
ritual they had followed religiously ever since Magnus' attempted
suicide. On the day of Magnus' attempt upon his own life Angus had
suddenly realised that he had nearly lost his one true friend, and
since then he had endeavoured to fulfil his weekly engagement with him.
Angus and Magnus had been best friends ever since they were able to
walk, their mothers had also been best friends and so they had been
throw together as soon as they had come out of their mother's wombs.
Their birthdays were both in the month of June; they had attended the
same nursery school, primary school and secondary school. They were
rarely seen apart during childhood, instantly recognisable as the two
blonde-haired boys with grubby knees and wide, boyish grins. They had
kept nothing from each other; they were, in fact, the very best of
friends. It was only when they went to University that they had parted
company. Angus had gone to the University of Glasgow to study English
and, whilst Magnus had chosen the same course, he chose to go to
Edinburgh University. Still though, they had met at least once a week
either in Glasgow or in Edinburgh and continued to enjoy the very best
of friendships. After University they had seen each other rarely, a few
times a year at the most. Their lives separated by circumstance and
work commitments. It was only in realising that he could have lost
Magnus that Angus realised how much he missed seeing him regularly. So,
after that day they met in the small caf? every Thursday. They talked
of old times mostly, recalling their childhood memories, neither ever
mentioning the attempted suicide, both preferring to tiptoe carefully
around the subject instead.
When they were young they had made lemonade in the street outside
Angus'
house and sold it to thirsty passer's by for a penny a time. That was
in old currency you understand, and in those days that was a reasonable
amount of money- especially for two small boys. Once they had exhausted
their supply of lemons, they took the proceeds of their business and
ran to the sweet shop. There they would buy bags upon bags of sweets,
generous pennyworths weighed out on old brass scales by the senile wife
of the proprietor. Occasionally they would trick her into thinking she
had given them the wrong change, or that she had forgotten about a bag
of sweets. If she was on her own she would invariably give in and Angus
and Magnus would depart the shop with a mischievous glint in their
eyes, and extra sweets in their pocket. If the proprietor himself was
in though the result of their trickery was spittle in their eyes and a
clip around the ear. Angus greatly missed those days; Thursday
evening's always passed in a mist of nostalgia for him. Sherbet lemons
were Magnus' favourite sweet. They would sell lemonade all day then he
would spend every penny on lemon sweets; Angus used to tease him
continually about it. Magnus still laughed every time Angus mentioned
sherbet lemons and Angus laughed with him, a peculiar far-away look
upon his face as he remembered those days. They were rarely stuck for
conversation, the only lulls coming when people passed by their table
and looked at the two middle-aged men with their lemonades. It wasn't
so much that they were ashamed to be sitting in a caf?, drinking
lemonade and recalling memories- more that they didn't want strangers
to impinge upon their special, treasured memories. They were for Angus
and Magnus only, they lived through them together, and they would
remember them together. They talked of the past continually, rarely
bothering with the trivial issues of the present. There was rarely a
pause in their conversation, yet when they did hit upon a moment of
silence it was as comfortable as if they were incessantly chattering.
Angus never felt uncomfortable with Magnus; even the silences were
golden. They would sit in companionable silence sipping silently on
their lemonades. Angus always had to finish Magnus' lemonade for him,
as Magnus never managed the full glass. He seemed to like the idea of
the lemonade more than the actual taste; it reminded him of their
youth, just as it reminded Angus of their shared memories. When they
were younger Angus had had to do the same with Magnus' sweets, pulling
the sticky paper bag off the remaining sweets and claiming them for his
own as Magnus lamented the sickly sweetness. Apart from the sherbet
lemons- Magnus had always managed to finish those.
They always sat for a couple of hours in the booth, content to sit
with their memories- until Angus rose to go. He had always been the
leader, Magnus had invariably followed his lead and he continued to do
so as they neared pension age. As the clock wound its' way towards six
o'clock Angus would pick up the two empty glasses and take them over to
Frankie, still stationed behind the bar. Frankie took them with a
good-natured grin and a friendly wink. 'See ya next week' he always
called as Angus pushed his way through the swing doors. Outside Angus
and Magnus parted company. Their goodbyes were cordial, but reserved.
They did not need to tell each other how deep their friendship was;
they demonstrated it every Thursday over lemonade. So, they always just
shared a smile, and softly said, 'See you next week' before walking off
in different directions. The following Thursday though they would meet
in exactly the same place at exactly the same time and once more
reminisce about old times. They didn't need to see each other in the
interim; they had their Thursday evenings together. Only in such a
special friendship could such a casual arrangement be so religiously
upheld by both parties.
Angus thought about next Thursday as he walked away from the caf?. He
hadn't mentioned it to Magnus, but next Thursday was exactly one year
after Magnus'
attempt upon his own life. Angus wasn't sure if Magnus would remember
but he was
unsure if he should mention it to him. After all a year had passed so
surely they should be able to talk about it by now. Yet, Angus didn't
like talking about such things, and it could produce the first awkward
silence they had had between them since they had started meeting
regularly on Thursday evenings. Angus felt a shiver shooting wildly up
his spine as he thought of that fateful day a year ago. The shiver
travelled quickly up to his head, and his brain began to throb as he
thought of it. Angus still vividly remembered the day, how could he
forget. Yet, he still hadn't come to terms with it. He had received a
call at his office from Magnus' sister Katherine, telling him of what
had befallen. After that Magnus had been admitted to hospital and
treated for his self-inflicted injuries. Angus hadn't gone to the
hospital to see him; he couldn't bring himself to. He knew that both of
the old friends would be happier if they forgot that such an event had
ever happened. Plus, Angus hated the smell of hospitals, hated the
putrid smell of rotting bodies that mingled with disinfectant and
rushed up his nose, scouring his nostril hairs on it's way up. He'd
never been much of a one for meeting pain head on. He'd broken his leg
once when he was just a small child and the screams that had been
emitted from his mouth must have been heard deep in the Himalayan
Mountains. So Angus had chosen not to visit Magnus in hospital, he knew
he would have been impotent in speech and in feeling if he had visited,
as his pain would have numbed his emotions. Instead of visiting his
friend in hospital, he had met him in the caf? as soon as he was
discharged, and the arrangement had stuck, until a ritual had been
established. Angus walked slowly on down the street, ruminating on the
events of the year before; he definitely wouldn't mention it to Magnus
next week. They would just go through the same routine as every
Thursday, remembering the old days and forgetting the year
before.
Angus got into his house at around half-past six, just as dinner was
being
served. His wife, Helen, came over and gave him a perfunctory peck on
the cheek
before waving him over to the table. The meal was conducted in silence.
There were
no children to punctuate the absolute quiet, no inane small talk to
break the pool of ice
that formed a veritable frozen lake between them. The grandfather clock
in the hall steadily ticked through the silence, each separate tick
echoing through the house. Angus sat and listened to the clock, willing
time to move faster as the awkward ceremony of dinner dragged on. He
sat and stared at his plate, yet he derived no joy from the meat and
boiled vegetables that met his gaze. At the other end of the table
Helen's mouth was pursed as she grimly contemplated her food, which lay
almost untouched in front of her. It was a marriage in name only, not
in reality. Angus had never felt any warmth from Helen, never really
loved her at all. He had never really felt close to a woman; the only
person he felt entirely comfortable with was Magnus. Helen had always
resented Magnus, maybe that was why Angus and Magnus had grown apart.
Now though they had renewed their friendship, maybe that was why Helen
and Angus were growing apart. Helen never asked where he was on a
Thursday evening, but instead accepted his mumbled excuses without
comment. Today he didn't even mumble an excuse, just sat down. She
didn't enquire.
So he sat and chewed upon his carrots and peas, thinking of Magnus and
next Thursday. It would be the highlight of yet another long, banal
week, just as
it always was. They would sit, just as they always did, and talk of
their childhood
together, remembering those lemonade summers. The spectre of the year
before would be ignored, just as it always was. Life would continue as
normal,
Angus would follow his usual routine. Smiling, Angus chewed on his
overcooked meat and ignored his wife.
Next Thursday arrived all too slowly for Angus. The clock hand on his
office
wall crept slowly towards four o'clock, the hands seemingly stiffening
as they moved
round, coming to a virtual standstill as they passed three-thirty. As
the clock finally
landed upon three forty-five Angus rose from his desk, just as he
always did. He
picked up his briefcase, just as he always did, said a curt goodbye to
his receptionist,
just as he always did, and walked towards the caf?, just as he always
did. The sky was
overcast and grey above him, threatening rain, though it seemed to be
holding back,
as though waiting for a signal. The sun lingered behind, searching for
a gap to exploit,
but it was doubtful whether it would get to show its magnificence
today. Angus
walked at his usual pace, with his usual pigeon-like walk. He looked,
when he
walked, like the single overweight pigeon that is always seen amidst
the other pigeons. It was as if he had been the most eager to reach the
breadcrumbs that lay upon the pavement and hence had grown to such a
proportion that it was now impossible for him to be thin, even though
he was no longer the quickest in reaching the food. So, he lost weight
as the other pigeons dined, yet he never reached thinness, as his body
weight was such that he would never cease to be overweight. Angus was
still slightly portly, though he had lost a lot of weight during the
last year; perhaps it was his regular meetings with Magnus. The
meetings certainly made him happier for the rest of the week, and hence
he tended not to comfort eat- a vice he had possessed ever since the
start of his failing marriage. Maybe he could have lost weight if he
had faced up to the fact that his marriage wasn't working, but he
wasn't very good at meeting pain head on. So he had found solace in his
food, then Magnus had returned into his life, and suddenly his rare
happiness was found from a different source. His podgy face had begun
to sag slightly through the combined effects of age and weight loss,
and his clothes hung loosely off him. He had never lost the walk of a
fat man though, probably because he still carried a lot more weight
than was advisable. He looked, to all intents and purposes, like an
enormously fat man who had been slightly deflated, and hence had
started to wrinkle and shrink like a balloon that has leaked air.
Angus walked into the caf? at four o'clock, as usual. Here he
encountered his
first surprise- there was a young couple in his booth. They were
sitting holding hands and sipping upon their drinks, gazing into one
and other's eyes. Magnus hadn't arrived yet. With a, barely audible,
murmur of discontent Angus choose another booth and sat himself down.
On the seat next to him lay that day's paper, open at the obituaries,
with a coffee spill adorning it's uppermost edge. Frankie was taking
his time as well, preoccupied with taking the young couple's order. So
Angus wearily picked up the paper to pass the time. One item caught his
eye. A small item near the bottom of the page, framed with an ornate
ink border. 'In memorandum' it said at the top. Angus stared at it for
a while, unable to comprehend what it was for. Underneath the title, in
large, black, ornate letters was the line 'Magnus Taylor. One year has
passed since he passed away, yet he is still in all our thoughts and
prayers.' Angus looked up at the door; a blank expression was spread
across his features, Magnus hadn't arrived yet. It had begun to rain
outside, people rushed by with their umbrellas upheld, protecting them
from the rain. Frankie ventured over to his table, in his hands he held
two lemonades. Angus looked hopelessly again at the door, then, with a
sigh, he looked away. His head began to throb. He wasn't very good at
meeting pain head on. 'Frankie, could I just have one today please.'
Angus said woodenly as the barman drew near. 'Sure, you not as thirsty
as normal?' Frankie asked. 'Why, you've been getting two for ages.'
Angus stared at the plastic topped table and said, 'Yeah, for a year.'
Frankie began to move off with one of the lemonades, as the rain
splattered upon the closed caf? door behind him. Angus took a deep
breath and called him back. 'Take the other one as well, Frankie, I
think I'll have a coke.'