His hands bore the marks of decades of hard work—rough skin and knuckles thick with arthritis—but he could still twist a wrench with precision that most twenty-year-olds could envy.
The two men’s lives had diverged long ago, but their story had begun in a classroom, nearly sixty years earlier, during a time when life felt infinite and summers never seemed to end.
The Beginning: Sixth Grade
They met in 1961, back when the world seemed full of possibility. Robert was loud, restless, and full of energy, always tapping his foot or flicking paper balls at the back of someone’s head.
Michael, in contrast, was quiet, thoughtful, and meticulous, the kind of boy who lined up his pencils each morning and never forgot his homework. They became desk mates from the very first day.
You got a pencil?” Robert had asked, nudging Michael’s arm. “I’m Robert. You can call me Bobby. Everybody does.”
“Michael,” came the soft reply.
Well, Mike, guess you’re stuck with me now,” Robert said, grinning.
Though they were different in almost every way, something about their personalities fit together seamlessly.
After school, they would walk home side by side, backpacks swinging, occasionally tossing stones at street signs.
“Your mom packs this?” Robert had asked once.
“Better than those chips you bring,” Michael replied, teasing.
“That’s not fair. Chips are a food group,” Robert shot back, laughing.
