Tam

For some reason, my dad liked Tam. Tam wasn’t exactly a friend. Friend is the wrong word. We were never really friends, in that we didn’t actually talk an awful lot. But we used to stay over at the other’s place for a night, and play computer games.

This was back when I was about 12, I guess. I had an Amiga 500, and he had a Sega MegaDrive.

And for years after me and Tam stopped playing computer games together, my dad would sometimes ask “How’s Tam?”, and I’d reply “Haven’t spoken to him for years, dad.”

This morning, an envelope arrived on my mat, the address written on in my dad’s handwriting. I peeled it open.

Inside was just a scrap of newspaper, cut out of the local newspaper. No letter inside, nothing.

I haven’t spoken to Tam for about three years, maybe more. I think the last time we spoke was when we worked in a bar together for a short while. At the time he had been going out with this really nice girl for about a year. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but she was pretty, and she smiled all the time, but not in a stupid way. In a nice way. And they made a good couple.

The scrap of newspaper showed a quarter of an advert for a fireplace showroom. “Interesting,” I thought, “but I don’t have a chimney.” I realised my idiocy and turned it over.

I saw two familiar faces. A recognisable nice smile, and the ever-so-slightly buck teeth that could only be Tam. She was wearing a white dress and holding a bouquet, and he was in a black tux.

I’m very happy for both of them, naturally, and I also think that they are both very lucky that they met eachother when they were so young.

For the rest of us? Maybe we’ll never meet the right person. But that doesn’t matter, because even if you end up unmarried forever, there will always be somebody else in the same situation to keep you company. The thing that you have to understand about life is that it has the advantage. Life makes the rules, and life breaks the rules. Sometimes you just have to be flexible.