Memories of a life well lived

It was a rainy, dark night the first time I met Billy. The late-night coffee shop, with its 19th-century lamps illuminating the old carpets displayed on the walls, exhaled an aroma of timelessness. I was drinking a hot chai, which was slightly spicier than what I usually like, when he came through the door. A short old man, with a sweet, mischievous gaze that spoke of a kind of humor only gained through decades of watching your worries fall inside the cabinet of silly neuroses.

I first noticed how curious it was that, despite his aged body, Billy walked with the rhythm and elegance of a skillful cat. At the late hours of the café, booze would start to enter the beverages, inundating the atmosphere with the stumbling walks and crossroads missteps of the drunk. The common aroma of chaos of the late-night café seemed unable to enter the special bubble around Billy. Jansen, a recurring drunk of the house, stumbled and pushed the Romanian waitress Ramona, who was carrying ten different filled cups of Irish coffee stacked in an almost impossible pyramid—but right before she fell, Billy effortlessly redirected her back to balance with a smooth sway of his elbow. He walked through the café, elegantly diverting chaos and avoiding crashes.

Why he decided to sit at my table is still a mystery to me, although I have my suspicions. As I lowered my chai, I saw him sitting right across from me.

“How do you do?” Billy said in a high-pitched voice.

“Well, to be frank, I’ve been dealing with a bunch of crooked seamen and merchants all day, so my chai is my only priority at this time,” I answered with slight irritation.

“Why don’t we play a game of cribbage, and if I win, you give me that beautiful old beret you’re wearing, and if you win, I’ll tell you a secret?” Billy said.

“Forget it, old man!” I said as I brought the chai to my mouth.

Billy blasted a laugh, pulled out a pocketknife, and grabbed me by the shirt. As I spit my chai out in surprise, he whispered, “You’re going to play cribbage, and you’re going to enjoy it. You hear me, punk?”

Suddenly, I felt a strange force of nature pull me from the inside out, making my skin a little firmer. With powerful grace, the chai flew back into my mouth. Billy’s hand let go of my shirt, his pocketknife went back into his pocket, and his laughter returned to his lungs.

“Sorry about that—I can get carried away sometimes. Water under the bridge. Now, how about a game of cribbage?” Billy said.

I looked at Billy, perplexed as an otter, and swallowed the chai left in my mouth. A moment ago, it seemed like I had a knife tapping on my neck, but now there was no sign the event had happened. It was like a memory, but not quite—a memory not fully recollected, more like something you aren’t sure you dreamed or actually lived. It was like the feeling when you invest yourself so deeply in fantasizing about a future desire that you forget where you are, and when you return to presence, you can’t fully discard the sense that the future you imagined didn’t actually happen.

“Okay, old man, let’s play cribbage,” I said, suspicion in my tone.

“Wonderful delight!” said Billy.

Billy destroyed me in the match of cribbage, taking claim of my beret. Furious, I challenged him to another match, and another, until I was left wearing nothing but my underwear. I felt a level of frustration I hadn’t experienced since my youth, trying to sneak into violent adult-rated films at the movie theater. Before steam came out of my ears, Billy said,

“This has been fun, my friend. Now, if you come with me for a walk to the train station, I’ll give you back your pants and your jacket.”

We walked through the gray streets of London, passing the homeless, the rats, and the mysterious alleys of the night. It was a full moon, and though it rained, pale light still guided our way. Billy talked endlessly about cribbage games he’d played over the years and how he’d perfected his technique. It all sounded like nonsense to me.

When we reached the train station, Billy stopped—and so did I. I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what it was, but my arms, legs, and face seemed frozen. Billy and I stared at each other in a timeless period where nothing moved, nothing breathed, and nothing blinked. We were suspended—alive, conscious, gazing—with a sense of absence and fullness at once. There was no Billy and no me; there was only this moment. It was complete. Nothing was missing, and nothing was left. This moment was drilled into eternity.

Suddenly, the train arrived, and I began blinking again as if nothing had happened. Yet I knew Billy was also aware of the timeless dimension I had just experienced - he had been there with me, and he knew it!

“Very well then, this has been a fun evening. Thank you for the beret,” said Billy.

As he shook my hand, I felt another force of nature tighten my skin and pull me from the inside out, but this time forward. Billy hopped on the train, and it departed at an unfathomable speed. The clouds came and went with a strange speed, and by the time I had my next thought, I was already in my bed. Days and nights passed like drops of rain. The pains and joys of my heart taped me like mosquito bites. My face adjusted to the passing of time with wrinkles, softening, and hardening. What just a moment ago felt like a vibrant, capable body was now becoming heavier and stiffer. Just as I was able to catch myself letting my life slip through my fingers, I took a deep breath and enjoyed a profound rest in this eternal present moment. It was there that I searched for Billy.