Through early morning fog (I see)

Can we ever start over again? Like a wispy day after a heavy night storm, like an island in the ocean after a volcanic eruption, like a meagre refugee in an exuberant country?

    "Why don't you just come with me? Like all those previous years?"

    Tom looks at his friend and waits patiently for an answer. Arjan is sitting in front of him. Black turtleneck, gray trousers, anthracite rimmed glasses, short curly hair. His face is shrouded in deep doubt. As if he has just had a remarkable dream. But didn't have had the courage to tell the miraculous content to someone else.

      "I'm going to do what I've always been up to," answer Arjan. He puts his hands on the low table that is between him and his friend. Long pale fingers. As if that's all he has to offer.

       "Okay, Oaky. It's fine to me. But you know, it's getting late. Do you mind if I 'm going home? My girlfriend and her family are waiting for me. "

       Tom stands up and looks at his watch. But that gesture is superfluous. As long as they have together this evening, he has been continuously looking at his watch.

       "Did your father bake again his famous chocolate chip cookies?"

       Tom doesn't notice the light sarcasm in the question of Arjan. Or isn't it sarcasm? Is it an oppression of simmering regret?  Tom's bulky body is shuffling across the room. Like a beetle looking for fresh leaves. Tom is - like Arjan - late in his twenties. When the light from the lamp falls on his face, his cheeks seem to shine like freshly washed organic apples.

       "The chocolate chips? Oh yeah, that's part of the tradition," he says half apologetically.

       Arjan and Tom met each other for the first time at the Kindergarten. From the moment the teacher decided to put them next to each other, they have been friends. Everything they did together. Playing, fishing, stealing candy from the convenience store, smoking their first cigarette, watching Prison Break, going on holiday to Crete, getting drunk.

      For Arjan, Tom was the only refuge in this small, insignificant village.

      For Tom,  Arjan was a nice companion in this sweet, charming hamlet.

      Arjan rises up from his chair. The tall body is like a lost giraffe in a dry steppe. Tom is putting on his jacket. It's freezing outside.

      They are standing in front of each other. The silence is hanging like a rotting wooden bridge between them. Within a few hours the clock will strike midnight. Then, the glasses will be raised. There will be kissing, singing and dancing, fireworks lighting the grumpy heavens.

      A new year will awaken. Like a dragon wakes up in his dark cave.

      "I always hoped you wouldn't do it," Tom murmured. His lips move as if he chews on a piece of leather.

      Right at this moment, Arjan wishes he can stand calm and confident before his childhood friend. Still in his own house, still in his familiar world. He wants to show it so eagerly.

      His readiness to explore the world. His yearning to discover the secrets of the earth.

      They are about to hug each other but it turns out to be a clash between two manatees. Tom leaves the house. Arjan is observing his friend we he's walking down the street.

       Tom does not look back.

       Exactly at twelve 'clock, the night is illuminated by flares. Accompanied by the deafening sound of firecrackers. Arjan is shutting the door behind him.

       It is foggy. Sure, it will take some time before it becomes clear again.