A very short story written in the fall of 2004.

“Ireland?” I asked.

“Sure. We’ll leave tonight,” he said.

“We’ll leave tonight – for Ireland?”

“Yes.”

“It’s after eight already.”

“We can take the red-eye.”

“We won’t arrive until morning.”

“So.”

He took a sip from his beer and I took a long swallow from mine before returning it to the table, missing the target the water ring had made by mere millimeters.

“Ok, I’d prefer to fly at night anyway,” I said, “but when we get there it will be too early to drink. Will any pubs be open?”

“Some might,” he said.

“We won’t have time to go searching for them.”

“We could spend the day.”

“No, I have to be back tomorrow night.”

“There’d be a pub in the airport that would probably be open.”

“We can drink Guinness in the airport here. Why go to Ireland?”

“What would you rather tell people?” he asked. “That you went to Ireland on Saturday night to get a beer, or that you went to JFK?”

Rob always suggested these sorts of things, and I was always interested in them, but my predilection was to shoot them full of holes, as if they were sensible, well thought out ideas that logic could be applied to.

Rob finished his beer and I raised mine to my lips only to discover I had already finished it. He handed me a replacement retrieving one for himself in the same motion. I removed the cap and placed it in a neat row with the others, counting three to his two.

It was a hot night, but getting cooler as the sun dipped, and the small concrete balcony was all that we needed. It was large enough for two white plastic Adirondack chairs and one small white plastic table that could accommodate two drinks, two rows of bottle caps, a bottle opener, and a lighter.

“What will we tell them?” I asked.

“Tell who?”

“Our friends. We’re going to the movie with. Tonight.”

“They’ll understand.”

“They will.”

It was almost dark and everything looked purple. A car glided into view, turned rather quickly, parked, and then was quiet.

“You know what Jess and I saw today?” I asked looking at Rob and waving to Jess as she crossed the road to the stairs.

“What?”

“A turtle.”

“Where, in the lake?”

“Pond.”

“Cool.”

I drank my beer. I set my empty bottle on the air conditioner, along the wall, scraping the glass on the brick and making sure that the label shown outward just like the other three. As my empty hand came back, Rob had another bottle to fill it. The cap was already removed but not in the row with the others. It bothered me not knowing where the cap went.

“We should go fishing,” I suggested.

“In the pond?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon. We can get some lawn chairs—”

“And beer,” I interupted.

“And sandwiches.”

“It’ll be great. My neighbors driving by watching us fish like two hicks in a three feet deep pond.”

We laughed.

Jess came out onto the porch and sat on the green cooler with the broken hinge that we had used only once as a cooler, and for the past two years as a third seat.

“We’re going fishing,” I told her.

“Are you talking about the movie?” she asked, thinking I was being clever. We had plans to go see a family film with computer generated talking fish, with several of our friends. I was often clever.

“No. In the pond,” I said, pointing to the man made pond with the hose-fed fountain in the center that divided the parking lot of our complex.

“Oh,” she replied, and nothing after that. She got back up and went back inside the apartment.

“Do we have another six pack?”

“Yes,” he said without looking. “Let’s bring it to the movie!”

“I’m already pretty tipsy.”

“Me too,” he lied, “but it will be more fun.”

Another car drove in, and parked in the last remaining space. We looked at the car, waiting. It did not shut off and no one emerged. The horn blew, and I heard Jess getting her keys.

Rob and I got up, leaving the six pack behind.

We got into his car, and Jess into theirs.

“Ready?” he said.

“Sure.”

“Do you think it’s true that Guinness is really better in Ireland?”

“Yes,” I thought, but forgot to say.