text: Tuesday night, 10:24 PM sharp, Little Collins on 667 Lexington Ave, New York. Same place, same time for five years, all without an interruption in the weekly tradition of Sam’s. How could there have ever been a hiatus in their promised meetup? It would not be of Sam’s character to allow such thing. After all, the value of friendship to Sam has never changed within the course of all these years from the very beginning when Sam and Mort first conversed. And while, after high school, their pathways have diverged--Sam to Rice University and Mort to the University of Houston--never once did their friendship disconnect due to their differences and demanding schedules. And so, Sam arrived at Little Collins, ordered the usual pair of Tall Caramel Ribbon Crunch Frappuccino for himself and a Grande Teavana Chai Tea for Mort. Today, Sam was especially excited. There was news that he had been waiting for two weeks to announce. As usual, Sam would spot Mort sitting by the window-side with an opened binder packed with messy papers and notes. And, as usual, Mort would lean against his arm, read over his notes before occasionally glancing longingly outside the window, past his own reflection and into the colorful lights of the bustling city. He had always acted like this, something Sam had labeled as “romantic,” of which Mort would deny. Sam smiled at the sight of his friend before making his way through the labyrinth of people to Mort. He set the drinks down, catching Mort’s attention. “A Grande Teavana Chai Tea for, hmm...Mr. Price?” Mort smiled at Sam’s terrible impression of a waiter, but, like always, he would play along. “Yes, that would be me. Thank you so much.” He took a sip of the black tea before setting it down, letting out a long sigh of content. “My, Sam, the fact that you still remember my love for bitter things...” “How can anyone forget such a thing?” Sam laughed as he took a seat beside Mort. “Wouldn’t need a research conducted to know that most people prefer sweets over whatever the hell you’re drinking.” “I feel rather attacked.” “Oh shut up, Morty.” Sam took a sip of his Frappuccino. “Besides, it’s only been a week. Of course I’d remember what your favorite drink is, you incompetent man.” “Feels like five years,” Mort said with a sad smile. Something pained Sam’s heart, but he looked away and disregarded the feeling. “I guess.” There was an uncomfortable pause before Sam cut in. “Five years, huh? Are you still studying to be a lawyer?” Mort smiled and gave the binder a glance. “Of course I am, Sam. What a dumb question to ask.” Sam’s smile widened. “You’ve never changed, huh?” The two men chuckled. “Always so dead-set on a certain goal, it’s like--it’s like you don’t realize there’s other options available.” “There are no other options, Sam.” Mort took a sip. “I’m going to become a lawyer no matter what.” Sam stayed quiet. He had wanted to tell Mort that it was no use trying at this point. Mort had failing grades in the majority of his classes. At this point, he wouldn’t even be able to graduate the University of Houston with a bachelor’s degree, and yet he wanted to get into Law School? The way he was studying so vigorously for the LSAT was almost sickening by how pitiful it looked...yet-- yet , Sam knew deep inside that this was what he had admired the most from Mort. He was always so dedicated and determined, it was enough to fire up anyone in sight. He’d go so far as to say he held a crumb of jealousy towards Mort. Sam, after all, hardly lived for any purpose other than to live in of itself. Junior year and Sam still didn’t know what to do with his life. Mort did. Mort always did. That wasn’t the case now. “You’re not going to become a lawyer, Mort.” He gave Sam a sharp look, one Mort had never done before. There was a sting of hurt in his eyes but mostly, sudden shock. “How could you say that?” “You’re just not.” Sam sighed and avoided Mort’s eye contact. “Look at where you’re at, Mort. Be realistic. I’m twenty-six years old, and you’re still an undergraduate chasing after the moon! Where have your senses gone, Mort?” Mort turned away as well, a bit of impulsive anger coursing through his veins as they spoke. Outside the glass window, outside his own marred reflection, was the first droplet of rain. “It’s not like you to say something like that. No. No, Sam would never say anything like that. He was always so supportive to me, what happened within the past week to make you say--” “I’m saying it now because I couldn’t say it then!” The café seemed to hush after Sam raised his voice. Sam’s eyes widened when he realized his surroundings. He cast the other customers a glance before dropping his shoulders and looking at Mort apologetically. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Mort. You know that. We’ve been brothers since high school, remember?” “Of course I remember.” “I just...I don’t want to see you like this anymore, knowing that there’s a high--” Mort gave Sam a look. “-- a possibility that you won’t become a lawyer. That’s all I’m saying.” Mort gave a huff, that childish huff that followed him from the day he first threw a tantrum. “Give me a break, Sam. I may be failing my classes, but at least I know what I want to do with my life. Look at you. You’ve never had a dream. Wandering around aimlessly, changing your desired major at a quicker pace than my heartbeat. You may be smart, Sam, but where has that taken you?” Sam grew quiet. “Well your dumb ass isn’t taking you far either, is it?” Their eyes met, and instinctively, the corners of their lips rose into a laugh. How incredibly silly of them to be arguing at this age. It would appear, Sam thought, that time never really changes people. Mort chuckled. “Watch, this dedicated dumbass is going to beat smart Sam in this race to a life of contentment.” Sam smirked. “Oh as if, Mort. I bet you still haven’t figured out what the Pythagorean Theorem is.” “And I bet you still haven’t figured out what job you should get huh?” “Actually...” Sam paused, leaving Mort in a state of surprise. He rose his eyebrows at Sam. “Actually?” Sam smiled, looked over at Mort, broke their eye contact, and sighed, before smiling again. “I got a job.” “You what?!” “I got a job at Paul Hastings. You know, that international law firm you’ve always wanted to go to.” “You’re...you’re a lawyer now?” Sam frowned upon hearing the ounce of pain in Mort’s voice. “Yes. Yes I am.” He had been preparing to deliver this news since the past two meetups, but he had no idea how he was going to deliver it. It was exciting, for sure, but... “I’m proud of you.” Sam raised his eyebrows at Mort. “You’re...proud of me?” “Of course I am.” Mort’s sad smile transformed into a wide one, full of celebration. Mort’s energetic air made a sudden appearance as he threw his arm around Sam and laughed. “You fucking did it bro! You’re a lawyer! Holy shit--how?” Sam smiled at Mort’s supportiveness. “I studied, passed the LSAT with a perfect score and got into law school. Graduated, then landed an interview just a couple of weeks ago. It was a success.” “You made a 180 on LSAT?” “Yeah. I sure did.” “I made a 120, Sam.” “There’s no way you did. How? How did you make a 120? You studied so hard! Every time I see you, your head is burrowed into that stupid thick binder of yours--how the hell did you make such a low score? That doesn’t make sense. They botched it. They definitely botched the scori--” “No. Sam. They didn’t. I made a 120. I’m not going to law school.” “Mort?” “I’m proud of you, Sam.” He smiled at this phrase. To receive admiration from someone Sam himself had admired for so long left a warm feeling of contentment. “I did it for you, Mort. I did it because you couldn’t.” “I see. Fulfilling my lost dreams, huh?” “Yeah.” The single droplet of rain from earlier had become a light drizzle with occasional thunder. Audible, still, was the angry shouts and car honks just outside in the streets of New York City. “You want to know something else I’ve accomplished for you?” “What’s that?” “I quit drinking.” “You what?” “Yeah.” Sam smiled at the thought. “We used to drink all the time, remember? It took me four years, but I finally gave it up. Every time I drank, I was left feeling discontent and empty. I’m sure you felt the same way then, right?” Mort hesitated. “Yeah. Yeah you’re right. Truth be told, I had always put up a face in front of you, just because I didn’t want to look weak, but in reality, my grades were really getting to me. My mother was hospitalized at the time, remember? So my father had to pay for the hospital bills and my college expenses. I didn’t want to disappoint them, waste their time and effort. Didn’t want to waste my efforts either.” Mort reeled back with his shot of whiskey before letting out a sigh. “You were never a disappointment, Morty. I hope you realize that.” “I didn’t then.” Mort chuckled. “It’s like you said that night. I studied so hard, yet I made a 120 on the LSAT.” “You should’ve been content.” Sam paused. “That’s what I should’ve told you, instead. But I was drunk, too. We both were.” “How could I have been content? My mom died a few weeks from that night, Sam. I’m sure you remember me telling you that.” “I do. I still do.” “So how could I--” “YOU CAN ALWAYS BE CONTENT!” Sam wiped the drop of whiskey off the corner of his lips. “You can always be content, goddammit, Morty. You’re always trying so desperately to reach satisfaction when you know that even if you get there you wouldn’t be satisfied anyways! So why couldn’t you learn to just be happy with yourself? Your failing grades meant nothing! NOTHING! And you let it define you, and you let your failing dream define you!” Mort slammed the table with his fists. Suffocating silence wrung in the air of Henke & Pillot. “You wouldn’t understand, Sam! You’ve always been so damn smart! You don’t have the same problems as I do! You don’t have to deal with the feeling of having studied for months just to receive a fucking 120! You would’ve made a perfect score on the test had you set your eyes on the legal field! Fuck it! You would’ve made a perfect score on any test you wanted to! You want to be a doctor? You’ll be a doctor! You want to be a professor? Well goddamn, you’re going to be a professor! I’m sorry I’m not as gifted as you, Sam! I’m sorry I can’t be content like you!” “I never was content.” Mort drew a cautious breath. “Why are you crying, Sam?” Pain shot up from the back side to the front of Sam’s chest, a burning fire that boiled in his stomach to his brain. There it was, the familiar fury of fear, regret, anger, and sadness. He held his face in his hands, shamed that he should be crying in front of Mort again when it should be Mort in tears. Sam muttered shakily under his breath before repeating what he had said more clearly. “I never was content, Mort.” He let out a wail, one so pitiful that any bystander would turn away at the sound. It was a choir of years-worth of pain, gathered together in a discordant harmony that fused and scattered and danced a wicked, crooked dance. Every broken voice represented every broken piece of Sam’s heart, so damaged and cracked beyond repair. Years had it took for him to gather the courage to mend it up after the accident, yet within a few seconds, his futile efforts had become evident. His heart was in pieces again. “I-I’ve n-never b-been content, M-Mort...you k-know that b-better tha-than me. I-I’ve always w-walked blindly i-in fear of t-the f-future, not know-knowing where I was g-going...b-bbut you’ve al-always known. Y-you always k-knew where you-you were g-going. But I w-wish I can t-take that b-back! I know the truth n-now! YOU CAN BE CONTENT MORTY! Anyone c-can! In any c-circumstance, anyone c-can!” Sam wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his white-collared suit. He looked at Mort in the eyes. “I’m a lawyer now. I have a wife and two beautiful toddlers. Every day, Mort, every day , I tell myself that I’m happy. And I feel it. I’m happy with the way things are.” A sad smile surfaced on Sam’s broken face. “I wish I could’ve told you that before.” The sirens pierced the night as first responders gathered at the scene. A small crowd of bystanders watched from a distance, covering their opened mouths, unable to shield their widened eyes from the horror just a few meters away. Sam had stood there, frozen. He was twenty-one years old, a junior in Rice, and yet, he was still susceptible to fear immense enough to plant his feet firmly to the cold concrete beneath. Mort had ran out of Henke & Pillot in an impulsive, drunken rush to throw his life away in the face of his problems. Sam, well. Sam was trying to stop him. But, time, as we all know, is merciless. Because a delay in a few seconds, Sam could not reach him. Before his body could react, the ambulance was there, carrying away a bloodied, limp body. It was all Sam could do to watch in gripping fear as his best friend disappeared from the chaotic scene and the first responders attempted to clear the area. Did Sam forget? Did Sam really forget? How could he? No. It was crystal clear. The wrecked car, brake marks on the road, smoke from its wreckage, the city lights that illuminated the puddles of blood--no, no. Sam could never forget. Like a little boy, he began to cry. Mort pulled him into a hug, followed by a long sigh and a subtle chuckle. His embrace was warm and brotherly, full of what felt like forgiveness to Sam. He let Sam cry and cry and cry, all without a word. When Sam calmed, Mort spoke up without pulling away. “I’m proud of you, Sam.” “I--” “No. Let me speak.” Mort held Sam tighter. “I’m proud of where you are now. You’ve come so far, farther than I could ever imagine myself reaching. I’ve been watching over you, Sam. You really are so much happier. I was there for you when you studied for the LSAT. There when you sat in the lecture hall in law school. There when you fought off Ricky at that moot court.” That made Sam chuckle. “I was there when you met Michelle on campus. There when you proposed, when you married, when you had your first daughter, Daisy. Then you had your son. You named him Mort after me, huh?” Mort chuckled. “I was there when you visited my graveyard. I was there every time you replaced the olden flowers with new ones. And I watched with content that you were living a life that I struggled to get, one I could’ve gotten, but one I could never now. Don’t you see, Sam? I’m happy. I’m happy that you’re happy.” “I’m content, Sam. Are you?” “Yes.” Sam paused. “Yes, I’m content.” “Then let go of me.” Mort pulled away. “You’re dead, aren’t you?” “Time of death. 10:24 PM. Tuesday, 9 th of March, 2010.”