Static

People are amazed when a person in whose life they used to be an essential player is quite a different being when they happen to make an inquiry some time later. That everything is not just as they left it gives them great pause. This past week, I have been on all sides of a coming-going-reconnecting frenzy the whole world seems to be all caught up in these days. One of my oldest friends--from 7th grade--breezed into town on hiatus from a show he's touring in. Missing him doesn't even describe what I hadn't even been fully aware of until he was back in front of me. I tried to soak up every bit of his time, and he mine, before he was whisked off again into the world. You see, he is out, away from here. I am home. Although nothing like how, still, all the same, exactly where he left me. I like it here, I keep having to say in defense of not having strayed too far for too long a time after high school. I wasn't who he expected to see. Or expected to talk to. He was rather enchanted by me. And I can say that because I know his eyes. I know what way they used to look at me. With something like pity, and perhaps a sprinkle or two of protectiveness, and just a dash of futility. There was nothing he could do for me, back then. As thoroughly sad as I was. As uncompromisingly righteous (not in a religious sense). As tightly as I wrapped myself up in the unfair hand I bemoaned, daily, I had been dealt. But it is not that way anymore with me. I have my moments, like everyone, where misery is what it seems I do best. But I saw myself in his eyes. For just one week. And I was happy. Relatively. And I was vibrant. And I was in motion, despite the geographic sedentary-ness. And he could love me without sympathy being the greater part of it. At our last dinner together he looked across the table at me and said, "You're face just...lit up...just then."

"Did it?" I asked, a bit embarassed about having shown too much enthusiasm about whatever it was we were talking about.

"It did," he said, in a way that let me know that it was all right if I had done. More than that. All week, he kept looking at me as though he'd never seen me before. Not really. I'm...happy...he had the chance.

I guess it is natural that people who come back to this place expect that all the things they left behind would be just as they last remembered them. But there is movement, everywhere. For all things. Within all of us. There keeps being reason for me to reflect on my portion in that.

It's a good thing. Everyone is right where they need to be.