The Young and The Old

The Young and The Old 

 

The night was cold and the air was thick with excitement. The young man leaned over the table poised for his shot. With cue in hand he studied the table. “That corner” he said as he pointed to the far left of the billiard table. He took aim and sunk the 8 ball. The crowded room erupted with shouts and applause. The loser shook his head and swore sulking back into the crowd. Smiling the victor shouts “Who’s next?” From the back of the crowd an old man in a beat up flannel shirt with thin white hair walked up and placed his money on the table. The young man stood mesmerized. The old man nodded and set the balls in their place. His hands had the look of old leather. They were colored by the sun and dirt. His left hand pinky had a crook in it that would never go away. Without a word the young man placed down his white ball and took aim. With a quick powerful strike the balls broke. The old man stood with his back slightly hunched making the short man look even smaller. The young man looked at him and wondered what this man had been like in his youth.

The once rowdy room had gone quiet. These two men were not playing pool but communicating, creating art without words but by their actions. The young man played with skill and talent. He played as youth play. It was free, uncontrolled and arrogant. But by everyone in the room it was apparent that the young man played with respect. The intense game drew on as both men made their shots. It was apparent to the young man that the old man was good. He played with confidence and surety. It was clear that the man had not played in years, but his old body knew the movements. The young man relaxed. It was his turn and to win was simply to make a shot he couldn’t miss. The old man looked at him and smiled. It was as it should be. The student had grown up and passed his last test. The young man carefully took his shot and the game was won. This time there was no applause the room remained quiet. The old man placed down his stick and looked the young man in his eyes. A tear escaped from his eyes and slid down his face. “Son, you can always come home.” He turned and limped out of the bar. The son, now a young man stood in shock. After all these years the old man still hadn’t given up on him. The young man ran out the door a child once again.