OLD DRY-DOCK LANE

I knew the place very well but I don’t recall if there ever was a street called Anchovy Road anywhere in town.

And so, as the cab pulled over near the tall iron gate, which loomed larger under the colorful blinking lights that were clearly intended to be there to announce a huge occasion, I was tempted to pull out of my pocket the invitation again and try to check, perhaps for the hundredth time, if somehow I must have been mistaken about my destination. But a uniformed guard walked up to me as soon as I stepped out of the cab.

“You must be Mr. Eugene Rodriguez. Well, Good evening Sir. Mr. Colmenares and his family had been waiting for you at the dock”. Then he led me inside while I walked spellbound by the totally unexpected, almost mind-boggling realization. Now I’m sure this is the same Old Dry-Dock Lane, only they changed the name to Anchovy Road.

He stood at the edge of the dock, a man almost my age and very neatly dressed, flanked by an equally impressive woman and two little boys. Now I remember. How could I forget the sparkle in those eyes, the sunburnt face from many summers in the riverside and while his lips may have changed from the operation (there was no more trace of the boy hounded by a misfortune he was born with) he will always remain to be the troubled kid who became such an important person in my life once upon a time.

The lady of the house took my hand and offered her cheek while the boys chorused to a shy almost inaudible greeting before pulling their mother away, leaving the two of us - me and him - alone.

“I thought it was supposed to be a reunion of old friends?, I asked, struggling to keep my voice from cracking up.

“Well, it really is, Eugene. Two old friends. Just you and me. That’s all it meant. That’s all there is to it. You’re the only friend I had, in fact, the only one true friend I will ever have. I never got to thank you for what you did for me, my friend. I own this place now, you can say that I had been a very lucky man, and that’s all because of you.”

He speaks clearly now, it shocked me a little bit to hear him speak this way.

“How’s the operation, did it hurt?” Now I can speak about his great affliction without fear of hurting his feelings, the way it was before. But that was already in the past. It’s a different story now. My friend Elijah Colmenares is now a new and different man. Hugely different indeed, and a very rich man.

"Remember that ship, Eugene?“, he chuckled, ignoring the question while pointing at the humongous but familiar figure looming in the distance. “I had preserved it especially for this day, especially for you. Come, my friend, let’s go to the ship. Our ship.”

We raced to the ship like we were kids again. (To be continued...)