They had both waited so long for this. Nearly eight months. For the moon to hang just right in the sky. The tide to rise perfectly along the shore. The weather to finally turn and become pleasant - warm enough that all they needed was a light cardigan at night.
It was their release. A few times a week throughout the summer. To meet at the end of their street and walk down to the coast, arms full of equipment, rods slung over their shoulders, cooler filled with cerveza. They didn't care if the fish weren't running or that their lines remained slack, drifting aimlessly in the waves. They were there to unwind and enjoy one another's company - even the occasional cigarette. Their wives were back home, comfortable and asleep in their beds, knowing that their husbands were out rehashing old times amongst the dunes.
And rehash they did. After a few cold brews had slid down their throats, the stories began to come out. Of their first kisses. Their first girlfriends. How the first time either of them were arrested, they were actually together, spray painting a cop car. Not because they had a reason - only because it seemed like the hip thing to do at the time. They laughed at one another. The many mistakes throughout their lives. Cried for one another. About lost loves and siblings. They smiled at the thought of being young again. With joints that didn't ache the moment they woke up. Hair that wasn't grey. But they didn't linger on those thoughts to long. There were too many stories to share. The first steps of their children. The joy they felt when learning they were going to be grandparents. How happy they were the moment they each realized they had found the love of their lives.
There was just something so magical about sharing stories with one another. As if the memories somehow seeped into their bodies and revitalized them - made them feel younger and looser. More alive.
Neither was really sure what it actually was.
It was either that or the cerveza.
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