Two Old Friends

They were two old friends, and they decided to meet each day in the park. 

The park was not far from Stanley’s house, where he had lived his whole adult life. When his children were small, they would go down on Sunday afternoons, around the time his wife couldn’t stand them in the house anymore. Back then, the playground had been one of those old metal ones, that burned your hands in the summer and did the same in the winter. The parks department had since updated it, with what seemed like a more modern design. Lots of synthetic nets to climb on, new plastic slides and these green, sloping vine-like structures that seemed to grow out of the ground. The playground did seem nicer, and safer, but Stanley missed the old one.

The two old friends would sit on the bench across from the playground, watching the children play with their parents, or more likely, their nannies, as Stanley had noticed the mothers these days wanted to spend their time at the office rather than with their children. He mentioned this observation to Robert, for which his only reply was, “Good for them.” 

Stanley wasn’t sure what to make of this comment. Robert didn’t usually share his opinions, or talk much about himself, and seemed fine to just listen to what Stanley had to say. Which was probably why they had been friends for so long. Instead of asking Robert what he meant, Stanley let it go and enjoyed watching the young children run and play. The children themselves didn’t seem too concerned about who was minding them or why their mothers had decided to spend all day in the office, and instead were just enjoying the playground. Stanley wondered if his grandkids would like spending time at this park the same as their parents once did. 

He mentioned this thought to Robert. He expected a question in response, like, “What would you think they’d like the most?”, which would give him the chance to talk as long as he pleased about grandkids hanging off the nets, or sliding down the slides, or pretending those strange green vine-like things were giant beanstalks. 

Instead, Robert responded: “I’m not sure we should be sitting here.” 

It was a bright, sunny day, where you could feel the crisp of autumn coming in on the wind, if you sat and waited long enough. These were Stanley’s favorite kind of days, right in the middle of a changing season. Stanley was watching a power struggle play out between a child who wanted to stay and a nanny who insisted that they must leave. The child was winning. 

“Why do you say that? We come here every day and sit. Hasn’t been a problem yet.”

Robert nodded towards the playground. “Think of it from their perspective. Two old men, here every day, sitting and watching. Might be a little unsettling, don’t you think?” 

So, they decided to move over to the bench by the pond and watch the ducks instead. Stanley began bringing some old bread, trying to coax the ducks their way. The ducks would dart over to the little eddy next to the bench, through the tall reeds, grab whatever pieces Stanley had thrown and then immediately leave. They’d never linger, even though they knew Stanley to be a reliable source of bread. It saddened him a bit, that the ducks wouldn’t stick around.

One day, Robert asked Stanley why he kept bringing bread to feed the ducks. 

“Well, I can’t seem to finish a loaf before it goes stale, now that Shirley’s gone.” He didn’t like talking about her, and his friend never asked about it all, out of respect, Stanley figured, or maybe just because he didn’t care to talk about the past. 

“No, that’s not what I mean.” They both watched the ducks dart in and dart back out towards the full expanse of the pond. “You aren’t supposed to feed ducks. It’s not good for them. It makes them depend on humans for food, and then if you stop showing up, they won’t know how to get their own food.” 

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to keep coming here with bread each day, won’t we?”

Robert just smiled and reached out to give a reassuring squeeze to Stanley’s shoulder.   

Stanley didn’t want to hurt the ducks, and he didn’t like how ungrateful they seemed, anyways, so he stopped with the bread. That’s when he and Robert started to take walks through the park. Usually, they’d go on the path around the pond - where Stanley had taught his son and daughter to ride bikes - but sometimes they’d just wander through the open fields that made up most of the park. Not really going anywhere, just walking. 

That’s when the jokes started. Stanley knew his old friend was fond of riddles and puzzles, which weren’t Stanley’s thing so much, but the jokes were new. “Jokes” was probably not the right word - more puns than anything else. 

“Got a new one today for you, my friend,” Robert said as they walked, shoulder to shoulder, up and over a slight hill at the edge of the park. “Came up with it last night and couldn’t wait to tell you. You ready for it?”

Stanley nodded.

“What are clothes’ favorite month?”

Stanley thought. “I don’t know, what?”

“Janu-WEAR-y.” He looked to Stanley expectantly, searching his face for any reaction.

Stanley couldn’t help but chuckle. As soon as he broke a smile, Robert gave a big grin. “Pretty good one, huh?” Stanley had to agree it was. 

Their days had become somewhat solitary, as solitary as two old friends meeting at a park could be, but the jokes changed all that. Stanley had never seen his friend so animated by anything before. Each day, he’d come with a few to tell him, and he took Stanley’s reactions to the jokes very seriously. He seemed committed to the craft.

Stanley wondered if he should come up with his own and contribute something. Shirley had been more of the conversationalist in the relationship, and Robert was really the only person he would talk to about anything. But Stanley wasn’t one for jokes and figured he had taken up enough of his old friend’s time over the years. Maybe it was time for him to listen. If Robert wanted to tell jokes, then jokes it would be. 

For a while, it was pun after pun. “How do you get pasta into space? On a flying SAUCE-r.” “Why did the chicken cross the road? Because it was late for his shift at the CLUCK-tory.” Then they advanced to different structures and forms. They had a good thing going for a few days with some Catskill call-and-response that Stanley quite enjoyed.

“Last week, my wife, she got so mad at me.”

“How mad was she?” Stanley responded, trying to work out the punchline in his own head.

“Well, I’ll tell you, that night, the couch slept on me!”

Robert finally got good enough - at least in his own opinion - to try out some more observational humor.