Context:  Ben Davis, Paul Truscott’s lifelong friend, has been shot and lies in the Emanuel Medical Center in Portland Oregon.   It is a few hours after Ben has been brought in and doctors are still working to save him.  Paul has received no news during this time and is sitting in a visitor’s area. 

He gathered up his empty coffee cups and walked slowly toward the row of bins. Ignoring the recycling signs for conscientious disposal, he threw them in the closest and walked toward the main entrance.

Paul walked out of the hospital and stood looking out at the top level of the floodlit car park, deeply breathing in the damp, cold air. The floodlights made the surrounding darkness darker but with them he could see that, although the wind had died down, the rain had increased and was now coming down in a heavy stream, cones of silver water in the mostly empty car park.

Staring into the night Paul thought again of his friend. Of the scrapes and lucky escapes they had been through as teenagers and young men. Broken-down relationships, broken-down cars, and broken-down bikes, they had helped each other through and shared so many things in their lives. And, as with any good friendship they ribbed each other mercilessly, yet knew that there was no line that couldn’t be crossed and whatever was done or whatever was said they always had complete trust in each other.

Paul laughed sadly, more trust than in his marriages. For the first he had trusted her and shouldn’t have. The second he had betrayed her, but the result was the same, quick divorce and move on. Ben had been honest with him before both marriages. And the advice he’d given, to run away from the first girl and hang onto the second, had been correct and given with perfect honesty, but Paul hadn’t listened, and he knew he’d messed up both times.

He smiled while he considered the friendship he had. They were the same in so many ways, the same likes and dislikes, they shared the same sense of humor, the same sense of adventure, and of wanting to live life the best way they could. It was the subtle differences that was the glue held them together and Paul was honest enough with himself to know what they were. Ben always seemed to consider any alternatives while Paul put everything into Plan A, which was probably the cause of his two failed marriages.

And Ben had an uncanny knack of being able to talk to people though he hated being called a “people person”. He could listen, give the right answer, and make people trust what he said, make people believe he cared, although that wasn’t so hard for him as mostly he did care.

Paul laughed remembering the old lady down in Newport with the old bike he had helped Ben to pick up. She hardly knew him, they’d only met a couple of times, yet she was carried on like he was her long-lost son, she seemed so happy that she’d met him he was taking the bike. But that was Ben, someone to trust.

The rain wasn’t slowing, and the edges of the car park were lost in the dark and the rain. Paul thought it was the perfect night for this, bad news, bad timing, all neatly sewn up by the awful weather.

Paul turned and walked back into the hospital toward the nurses’ station to find out if he could go up and see Ben and for the first time in over ten years wished he had a cigarette.