Conversations With Eddie

 Preview From Snapshots At St. Arbuck's Vol 2

"It's been awhile." This from Eddie as we sat on the patio of St. Arbuck's, sipping our brews and enjoying the brief period of time that exists between days when there is a thirty mph wind and one hundred-ten degree temperatures, and days where there is a thirty mph wind and fifty degree temperatures.

It's normally called "October," but this year it started a week early.

"Yes, it has," I agreed. "I feel like I haven't seen you for a month."

"Six weeks," he corrected, tipping his chair and balancing on the back legs.

"No! That long?"

"Yeah, Jack. And don't forget, I was the one who had to call you or else we wouldn't be here."

"You did not!”

"Did too!" he wrinkled his brow. "Matter of fact, if I didn't call you on a regular basis, we'd never get together."

"What are you talking about?" I stammered. "I call you!"

"Oh? When?"

"Well, I called you..." I paused because suddenly I couldn't remember. "...you know, that time."

"That time? That's it? That's the best you can come up with?"

"Give me a minute," I stalled, hoping to buy some time.

"Dude, if you got to think that hard, then you have already made my point for me."

All right...he had me, but I had a secret weapon.

I got it from my wife.

She pulls it out during arguments such as this and I am helpless, yea, all men bow in helpless surrender before its power.

I felt the power rise as the word formed on my lips. "So?"

He rocked back in his chair as if he'd been smacked in the face.

"What did you just say?"

"I said, 'So?'"

He stared at me in a blank-faced stupor for about ten seconds before saying, "Oh no you did not."

"Yes, I did."

"Dude..." he said, stretching it out, the tiny vocal tremor at the end betraying his surfer roots. "Oh, dude..."

I smiled triumphantly.

He shook his head slowly. "I can't believe you actually stooped to use that on me. Me!"

"I don't see what the big deal is."

"You don't see what the big deal is?"

Eddie has a habit of repeating everything you say when he starts getting a little worked up.

"No, I don't."

"You don't?"

"You know, if you're going to repeat everything I say, we're going to be here a long time."

He threw his hands up in the air and let his chair come forward with a bang.

"You're not supposed to say things like that."

"And why not?"

"Because, it's not...it's not, well, manly."

I laughed sharply.

"That's silly."

"For the record, saying 'silly,' isn't real manly either."

I wadded up the bag in which my chocolate chip banana coffee cake had come and arced it toward the waste basket where it fell cleanly through the opening.

"How about that?" I said petulantly. "Is that manly?"

"You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"You know...why it's a problem," he continued quickly. "You wanna' know why it's a problem?"

"Is there anything I can do to stop you from telling me?"

"No! Now listen to me. If we—guys that is—start resorting to girl strategies in order to win arguments, our entire gender will be set back centuries in our evolution."

"I thought you didn't believe in evolution."

He rolled his eyes and let his head fall backward with his mouth hanging open.

"I give up."

"You two arguing again?" The friendly, albeit nosy store manager appeared at our table.

"No!" we said in unison.

With a "wink-wink-nudge-nudge" motion of her elbow, she moved on to clean another table.

I looked at Eddie, "I have no idea what we were talking about."

"Now that's more like it! That right there is a manly thing to say."

"I'm not sure I..."

"Yeah, man. When the little woman is in the heat of the moment, you pull that out and, bam! Argument over."

The realization of how profound this really was spread over me like warm butter on a sticky-bun as we fist-bumped across the table.

"Isn't communication great?"