Once a day, until Dec. 25, we'll be highlighting a specific small, good thing that happened in popular culture this year. And we do mean small: a moment or image from a film or TV show, a panel from a comic, a brief exchange from a podcast, or a passage from a book.
They haven't seen each other since they were teenagers. They are adults now.
The parking lot they're walking through is the one next to the diner where Kevin works. He's just closed it up for the night.
The two men are walking towards Chiron's car.
Earlier, Chiron had surprised Kevin by driving down from Atlanta to see him. Out of the blue. Kevin had made his friend a meal. They'd talked. Had some wine. Caught up.
They are still walking towards Chiron's car.
There's a silence between them, and it's not the kind of easy, unforced silence that falls between close friends. This is not a conversational lull. Or if it was at first, with every step they take (they are still walking towards Chiron's car) it grows weightier, more insistent. It takes on a shape that Chiron, at least, cannot bring himself to recognize.
This remarkable scene, like the film that surrounds it, seethes with unspoken words. Aches with them, in fact: A lifetime of words left unsaid, of thoughts unexpressed, of rigorous, watchful silence.
Until now? Until, perhaps, this moment?
... No. Not yet.
Not quite yet.
They are still walking towards Chiron's car.
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