Dear Reader, Let Me Tell You a Story About Friends and Beers—But Not the Whole Story

Afternoon, Monday, May 26, 2025, Miami, Florida

Hi, there, folks. It’s a hellishly hot late spring day in South Florida. Currently, the temperature is 90°F (32°C) under mostly sunny skies. That’s hot, but with 66% humidity and a southeasterly breeze blowing at 12 MPH (19 Km/H), it feels like 97°F (36°C). The original forecast high was 89°F (31°C), but now it’s gone up to 92°F (34°C) under mostly sunny conditions.

I’m not surprised that it’s a torrid Memorial Day 2025. After all, I’ve lived in this part of the world most of my life. And I have noticed – even as many of my fellow Americans deny it – that it is getting gradually hotter as time goes by; summer in the Greater Miami area was never going to be as cool as it is in New England (especially up in the White Mountains of New Hampshire). But it wasn’t this hot this early until the early 2000s. When I was a kid and even a young adult, we wouldn’t have daytime highs in the 90s until July. Now it’s the end of May, and it feels like mid-August.

On Writing and Storytelling: My Favorite Scene in Reunion: Coda

Writing a novel means crafting moments that aren’t just scenes but emotional cornerstones—passages that hold more weight than a handful of words on a page. Mark and Jim Share Beers is one such moment in Reunion: Coda.

It’s a scene where nostalgia mingles with regret, where quiet rebellion gives way to deeper conversations, and where friendship exists in both laughter and silence. It’s my favorite passage from the novel—and that’s exactly why I’m not sharing it in full.

However, I want to give you a glimpse. Below is an excerpt that sets the stage—a nighttime conversation between two friends navigating the bittersweet edges of memory and growing up. It carries humor, reflection, and an unspoken tension that builds toward something more.

But what comes after, I’m keeping for those who venture into the full novel. Because some moments deserve to land exactly where they belong—within the greater arc of the story.

So, here’s what I will share with you…

 8 PM, The Garraty Residence

On returning home from the Garraty-Prieto Graduation Dinner at the Rusty Pelican, I’d kicked off the Pierre Cardin suit and exchanged it for my comfy Levi’s and a South Miami High Chorus tee. I shut the Venetian blinds against the outside world but left a lone desk lamp on to cast its gentle glow in the dark. I lay on my bed, arms folded behind my head, and stared up at the ceiling, Leonard Bernstein’s “Finale” from West Side Story filling the air of my little sanctuary.

We had laughed over dinner at the Rusty Pelican. Mark chuckled when I told him I mistook my first homeroom teacher for one of the students. She was so young! He nearly bust a gut reminiscing about the Spring Concert fiasco when the Men’s Ensemble turned “Gee, Officer Krupke” into slapstick comedy.

I didn’t have to laugh now. I could replay Marty’s last words, “For old times’ sake.” I could still feel the ghost of her lips, the whisper of her perfume, and the taste of her strawberry gloss. It was like grinning through a veil of thorns, pretending everything was A-okay when really, I was just a guy who’d watched the girl of his dreams drift away because I was too chicken to make a move.

The final strains of “Finale” seemed to linger, stretching out to touch the edges of eternity before they dissolved into the quiet of my shadowed room. The tape hissed its postlude, then snapped off with a decisive CLICK.

Should I replay it, Marty’s graduation gift to me?

“I wanted to give you something to remind you of our time together… um… in Mrs. Quincy’s class. And our song is in it,” Marty had said, her voice now a ghostly echo in my mind. A fresh stab of regret pierced me, sharp and frigid, and I knew—I just couldn’t face it again.

A knock at the door fractured my contemplation. My mother’s voice, warm and familiar, filtered through the wood. “Jim, honey, Mark’s here.” Mundane as they were, her words came like a lifeline thrown into the turbulent sea of my thoughts, pulling me back to the present, to reality.

“Thanks, Mom,” I replied. I jumped up—or at least rose—to open the door.

Mark stood in the doorway grinning. He wore Wranglers and a Return of the Jedi tee and clutched a Publix bag as if it were something precious. The soft clinking of glass hinted at its contents. “Hey, buddy. How are you doing?” he asked.

“Fine, I guess,” I answered, my eyes darting to the bag. “I hope that’s not another graduation present.”

He set the bag down with a clatter that seemed too loud for the quiet room. With a glance at the door, he shut it firmly. “It is a present,” he admitted, “but not the kind our moms would be thrilled about.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s definitely not the July issue of Playboy.” The lightness in my tone belied the turmoil in my mind.

Mark’s grin was a prelude to mischief. “Man, gift a buddy—no, a best buddy—a Playboy for his 18th, and it’s like you’ve signed a pact for eternal ribbing,” he said, his eyebrow doing a comical dance that pulled a genuine chuckle out of me. “Zip it, and check these out…”

He delved into the Publix bag, the drama in his movement worthy of a stage, and emerged victorious with two Heineken bottles held high.

My surprise must’ve been clear as day. “Where on earth did you snag those?”

Mark, ever the secret agent, gave a quick, paranoid sweep of the room before leaning in, his voice a low whisper. “You recall that last visit to my dad’s? The monthly post-divorce ritual?”

I nodded, intrigued.

“I swiped these bad boys for an occasion just like this. Dad’s got a whole stash of Heinekens in his ‘special fridge.’ He won’t notice a couple missing,” he declared with a grin that spelled trouble and camaraderie all at once.

The chill from the Heineken bottle seeped into my fingers, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room. I raised a finger and tapped my chin in silent questioning.

He caught my look and chuckled. “I stashed them in the freezer the moment we got back,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “Mom and Leslie were none the wiser.” He plunked his bottle down on my desk, the sound was a solid promise of the night to come. Fishing out a bottle opener from his pocket, he popped the caps with practiced ease, the metallic ping of the caps hitting the floor a testament to our quiet rebellion.

I took a swig from my bottle. A curious blend of bitter and sweet rolled over my tongue mixed with a malty backbone complemented by subtle notes of biscuit and a whisper of green apple and sweet corn. The beer was as cold as the water from a mountain stream in late fall, sending a shiver down my spine. I wasn’t sure if I liked the taste—there was a complexity there that I couldn’t quite place, perhaps a hint of something almost skunky in its boldness. But as the lager settled in my stomach, I couldn’t deny the comforting surge of warmth that followed.

“Whoa,” I managed, the word hanging in the air between us.

Mark’s smile displayed the enjoyment of shared secrets. “You’ve officially lost your beer virginity, Jimmy boy,” he teased, his blue-gray eyes twinkling with the kind of camaraderie that comes from years of friendship. “Maybe next year, you’ll be sharing a beer with a girl and…” His voice dropped off, and he took a hearty swig from his bottle.

A flush of warmth spread up my neck and over my cheeks, whether from the beer or Mark’s insinuations about girls and what comes with them, I couldn’t tell. “Hey…”

“Cheers,” he interrupted with a laugh that was both knowing and forgiving.

“Cheers,” I echoed, and this time, a genuine smile spread across my face.

If you’ve enjoyed this glimpse into a moment of camaraderie and quiet rebellion, you’ll find much more to savor in Reunion: Coda. Available now on Amazon in Kindle, hardcover, and paperback formats, or through bookstores like Book Culture and Barnes & Noble, it’s a story worth adding to your collection. And if you’re a library enthusiast, don’t hesitate to request a copy—your local library just might oblige. Discover the layers of friendship, nostalgia, and growth woven throughout the pages of Reunion: Coda—a journey waiting for you to embark upon.