"Ron, could you (mumble, mumble)...?"
"Say again?" I called from the garage back to my wife, Ginny, who was in the kitchen at the time and apparently thought that if she said it, I should have received it. Sigh.
"Just (mumble, mumble)... "
I put down the bicycle, wiped my greasy hands on a rag, and went back inside. "Say again?" I asked.
"Your phone was ringing, it looked like an unknown number, so I let it go."
"Perfect, thanks. If they want to leave a message, they can. I'm going to go back to tuning the bikes."
"Have fun."
"Yep, some fun a'coming, for sure!" I laughed as I exited back to the garage.
An hour and more grease later, both bikes were ready for the season, and I'd cleaned up. I finally got around to looking at the phone, and sure enough, the mystery number had left a message, so I listened:
"Ron, Comrade Jim here - hoping you're at this number. Gimme a call back if able."
Ah, that took me back. Jim and I were in a military unit back in the day that used "Comrade" as an ironic joke label for each other - our unit was dedicated to opposing the Marxists and their cohorts, and we were far from sympathetic to that cause. Only unit members called each other that, and it did lead on occasion to problems, but it stuck, and became a way of identifying each other, almost a fraternity secret handshake kind of thing. Anyway, Jim and I had been great friends back in our bachelor days "never sparing ourselves any good or evil," as T. E. Laurence once said of his days in the desert. I had to smile just thinking back on the crazy things we did, on missions and off, the on mission work not discussable even yet, the off mission episodes the stuff that makes for bar tales that others find hard to believe.
I called him back immediately.
"Comrade Jim," I said as he answered, "you're still alive?! How could that be??"
"No explaining it, Comrade Ron - no explaining it at all. And I've become so set in my ways, downright respectable, that you probably wouldn't recognize me."
"Yeah, same here - married, family, even a roof over our heads not made of tin - but it's good. I'm a fortunate soul."
"Likewise. Listen, I've gotta run to something, but I'd love to catch up. You still live in Boston?"
"Nah, left that long ago. I'll text you the whole address and email thing."
"OK, great - let me know a time that's good for us to talk - I'm back in all week next week."
"I'll do that - maybe we can actually meet up some time."
"Hope so, see ya, Comrade!"
"Za Vstrechu!"
And we hung up. The next week, we got on the phone, yakked for a good hour or so, catching up, and found that he and his wife were planning a vacation trip to New England to visit their grown son. The route was coming near our place on the way, so we arranged for them to stay with us for at least a night, maybe more, get the wives introduced, do some serious reminiscing, and maybe even include an adult beverage or two. I broke the news to my wife Ginny that Comrade Jim and his wife Sylvia were going to be our guests. Ginny was fine with the idea, and I knew our calendar was clear for that, another two weeks away. I explained the whole Comrade thing, and shared that I knew nothing much about Sylvia except that they'd been together long enough to have a son in his early 20s and on his own, similar to us. I hadn't asked more about kids (yeah, I should have), but it just didn't come up on the short call.
Long story short, we re-established our friendship, albeit online, and I looked forward to our actual reuniting. I think Ginny rolled her eyes a bit during the planning, wondering just how much I was going to revert to my wilder younger days despite my middle age. But it was all good.
Jim and Sylvia arrived on time as planned, a Friday afternoon (that was one thing we learned in the military - how to be on time), and while Jim seemed not to have aged nearly as much as I was worried that I had. We'd shared online photos, so I knew that he was still, like me, in decent shape, probably better looking since my hair had gotten thinner, dammit, while his was still full - fuller than in our military days.
Sylvia, a bit of a surprise, was a piece of work - great sense of humor, obviously loved Jim and gave him no slack in the teasing department. Ginny was probably a bit overwhelmed by both of their extroverted ways, but before long, it was apparent that Ginny was enjoying herself as well, as the ladies drank wine after a light dinner, while Jim and I got into the bourbon. Some great war stories ensued (places and dates redacted, of course), one or two even true, more rolling of female eyes, more male laughter, and eventually we all cleaned up and went to our quarters (Jim and Sylvia upstairs in the larger of our spare bedrooms, Ginny and I downstairs in the master as usual).
The next day, Jim and I golfed. After coffee and toast, we left the wives at home and headed out. The pro shop had clubs for guests, and we decided to do pull carts rather than drive, for the exercise. It was a great weather day, not so great for my golf game, but it never is. I'm not out there to score, just to enjoy the game and see if I can get a couple of decent shots in, and try not to go triple digits while I'm at it.
After the round, we had a beer at the 19th hole and relaxed. "We're pretty lucky, comrade," I reflected. "Decent life styles, decent jobs, great country despite its struggles these days."
"Yep," he answered, "And don't forget, we both married up - way up for you, understand."
Chuckling but not willing to give the edge, I said back, "Way up for us both from what I can tell. You're lucky anyone, much less a babe like Sylvia, ever bought your BS. What'd you do to get her to the alter - blackmail? drugged her? promised her riches you don't have?"
He laughed back, "Nope, just hauled out the trusty magic flesh wand - she took one look and that wrapped the deal."
"Yeah, right! Well, you did well, comrade."
"And you - you're definitely boxing way above your class with Ginny. She's a real wet dream!"
"Whoa - you're talking about the mother of our son there, buster!" I was still chuckling, faking the shock, and he knew it.
"Well, that's one mother I'd definitely like to fuck - she's a major MILF, as I hope you appreciate."
"Well, so is Sylvia, of course. But only in our dreams, bro, only in our dreams."
"Maybe, ever consider going outside the box on that topic?"
"Consider, sure. Act on it, nah. Too risky. I'll stick with gold at home and occasionally gazing at silver elsewhere."
