“I don’t know what to do,” he said.
He threw Rock. I threw Scissors.
Last month, I flew back to our hometown. His dad had passed. We stood in the same driveway, now cracked and weed-choked, both of us carrying the slight softness of our mid-thirties. The silence was heavy. rps with my childhood friend
You see, Leo always throws Rock first.
Always.
We didn’t say “best two out of three.” We didn’t need to. We pumped our fists once. Twice. On three, we threw. “I don’t know what to do,” he said