My Childhood Friend | Rps With

We will play this game until one of us is gone. Not because we care who wins. But because Rock Paper Scissors, at its core, is a promise. It says: I am here. I am present. Show me what you have right now.

We didn’t have a treaty. We didn’t have a formal declaration of war. What we had was a cracked driveway, a setting sun, and the unbearable boredom of a summer afternoon with no batteries left for the Game Boy. rps with my childhood friend

We didn’t say “best two out of three.” We didn’t need to. We pumped our fists once. Twice. On three, we threw. We will play this game until one of us is gone

Last month, I flew back to our hometown. His dad had passed. We stood in the same driveway, now cracked and weed-choked, both of us carrying the slight softness of our mid-thirties. The silence was heavy. It says: I am here

In a world of text messages left on read and friendships reduced to liking a photo once a year, the closed fist is a ritual of profound attention. You cannot play RPS while looking at your phone. You cannot play it while thinking about something else. You have to look the other person in the eye and commit.

It is a conversation we never had to learn how to have.

Throw.