Even from a distance he could recognise his friend’s gait. This time, however, there was something different. He walked in a slower, more pedantic shuffle and as he got closer his facial expression transmitted a message much more than his usual youthful diffidence.
For a moment the combination of his hangover-induced-tiredness and the unusually warm summer-sunshine clouded Mark’s mind into the reason for his friend’s despair. Then, in a blinding flash, like a 'eureka' moment, the reason became apparent.
He had received his exam results, or rather he had phoned about their outcome, and had received news of a rather negative nature. Immediately, his friend's plight was his as well; he could also find out his exam results.
He had pushed them to the back of his mind, somehow shutting out reality to distance himself from a suspected calamity.
Eventually the two friends reached each other.
'You got the results then,' Mark blurted, in what he knew was a pathetic attempt at diplomacy.
'What do you think?' Jon mumbled.
'Well, you thought you might need a couple of resits,' Mark said, trying to sound upbeat.
Jon replied in an almost helpless desperate tone, 'I failed them all, I mean every single one.'
'Hold on, hold on,' Mark tried to interject but Jon ignored him and went on. 'I failed them all with marks too low,' Jon gasped, 'with marks too low to take them again! I am no longer a University student.'
A silence descended on the two young men. One not able to come to terms with the situation and the other with no words of consolation. The intensity of their shared adolescent experiences meant they always had a mutual respect for one another.
Jon perked up, 'How about you? Uni over for you as well?'
Mark’s stomach jumped, 'I’ve not phoned yet.'
'Why not?'
Mark knew there was no escape, his mind weighed up the pros and cons in a second. There was a public phone box in working order next to them and he had been jangling last night’s fortuitous fruit machine winnings like a sort of nervous relaxant ever since Jon’s arrival.
A burst of adrenaline seized Mark and he said, 'I’ll phone now…from the phone box.'
'You better have plenty of change,' said Jon.
Mark thought and spoke aloud, 'How long does it take them to say fail?'
Jon smirked, feeling slightly better at the prospect of a shared disappointment.
Mark walked like a condemned man with legs like jelly as if he was about to miss the decisive penalty in a World Cup Final. The telephone box door seemed to have inherited the weight of ten men. Mark stumbled into the telephone box. Jon waited outside with a collection of expectation and hope, probably that Mark would fail. Although only a couple of minutes had passed it seemed like an eternity to Jon. Then Mark struggled out of the telephone box with, if anything, less strength than he had entered. Jon thought his anguish was about to be shared but Mark’s physical weakness was a result of the shock of the news he had received. He shuddered at the prospect of breaking the news to his friend. But then, at the critical moment, when they stood face to face, Mark’s spirits soared for a moment, ‘Great, I passed!’
Mark spoke quickly, 'Jon you won’t believe it – I passed! I don’t believe it.'
Jon stood shoulders sagging, 'You passed – how come? Are you sure?'
'Yeah,' said Mark.
Another silence descended – Mark feeling guilty for his happiness and Jon’s shortcomings cemented by his friend’s success.
Following the events of that day, the lives of the two friends took different paths. Mark stayed at University and Jon worked somewhere that Mark was not aware of. In that one day the catalyst for change was there – meetings became less frequent – sometimes and then nothing.
The void left by their lost friendship was filled by a combination of new friends, girlfriends, work colleagues and, in Jon’s case, a wife and children.
Twenty years later almost to the day, Jon was driving through that same area when his new company car choked and then completely stalled. To make matters worse he had left his mobile phone on his desk at work. He was going to have to use the public phone which was a nuisance but at least he had some change.
He walked over the park towards the telephone box thinking that although he had hardly been here for about twenty years how little it had changed. On approaching the phone box, he thought 'Oh God, there’s an old, drunk person lying in the phone box.’
'Excuse me, excuse me, I need to get in here,' Jon said in a condescending manner. 'I have a phone call to make – this is a phone box.'
The motionless figure twitched with vague signs of hearing and understanding. A firm hand on the shoulder helped the rehabilitation and slowly he turned round to face him. A thin lined, gaunt face with black holes for eyes, staring out with no clarity of vision. An uncommon pang of sympathy entered Jon’s body and he helped the man to his feet as he staggered from the phone box and out into his unwelcoming world.
Something, however, about the chance meeting seemed to distract them both, something familiar. Although they had contrasting levels of clarity, both of them thought of something and then dismissed the idea.
'It can’t be...surely not.'
Their minds dismissing and then instantly contemplating the notion again.
'Looks too old, how did he become so professional?’
‘How did he get in such a mess?'
Then almost simultaneously they turned and shouted,
'Jon?'
'Mark?'
A lingering silent moment enveloped them both and they stared in recognition and disbelief, their minds joined in a million questions and memories. Slowly they began walking towards each other.