As It

“We three, we’re all alone, Living in a memory.”

And so it is, as not the Ink Spots, but our voices that carry across the miles far from the city streets we once knew, loved and shared.

Danny is the oldest, and was once the neighborhood golden boy. That was at a brief point in time when a war had ended. America’s neighborhoods then welcomed back the many young warriors who survived and were all hoping to retrieve a fragment of lost youth and embrace a year of recuperation

Joan and I, watched in adoration as the neighborhood young heroes rejoiced and gathered on street corners together. Always gentlemen, they congregated a respectful distance from the church steps where their laughter could not be misinterpreted.

My friend was the older, by 12 months, But far wiser than I, and today remains, my very best friend. For a brief moment in time, Joan and I shared their music, the contagious laughter and the dreams and then slowly but surely, we all parted,

Bur that was not before, we stood in awe together watching the parade of young couples slowly emerge and descend the church steps. I remember Joan and I throwing rice with enthusiasm at the new bride and groom after the many weddings.

Half a century later, fate threw we three once again together. Immediately thereafter we began to lunch monthly at one of Long Island’s famed waterfront restaurants.

My friend and I had both lost our beloved Arthurs, while Dan still enjoyed the comfort of a loving partner, Betty, who quietly indulged our invariable “remember when” conversations.

And like all good things, that too ended.

Joan headed south to the land of oranges and sun. Then I chose to go north, while Danny remained loyal to the state where once he was welcomed as a returning hero.

Now on Saturdays, while we no longer break bread, we still touch base . For a brief moment in time we are reassured all is well with each other,

And we three, still remember only the good times and that is

As it should be.