"...and the friends I've left behind."
We were sitting on the patio of St. Arbuck's--that would be my beloved and me--enjoying a morning that, thus far, had been about as easy as convincing someone to accept a free trip to Hawaii.
I like mornings like that.
By eight-thirty we had already walked the dog and gone through a decent workout at the gym and were enjoying the stretch of good weather that always precedes the dreaded triple-digit heat that settles in about the second week of May and hangs around until October'ish.
She walked in from the parking lot, her eyes casting about as if in search of someone; an attractive blonde woman of about forty years or so dressed casually in a blue, floral print sun dress that draped nicely on her slender figure.
Walking towards the entrance she stopped just short as if debating whether she really wanted to go inside.
After a few seconds hesitation, with hands cupped around her eyes she pressed against the window and peered through the glass scanning the interior.
She pulled away, brow wrinkled, glanced at a wristwatch and then her iPhone, spotted an empty table and quickly claimed it.
Obvious to even the most casual observer was the fact that she was there to meet someone and that someone had yet to arrive.
My guess was they were late.
She fiddled with her phone, alternately tapping and dragging her finger across the iPhone's surface as if searching for a number.
And then a car pulled into the parking place that was right in front of her table.
Shielding her eyes against the sun's glare, she smiled.
This wasn't just any smile.
It was a smile that came from a special place deep within her soul--a smile that completely transformed her face to the extent that she literally beamed.
I've heard about that a lot throughout my life, you know, someone's face "beaming," but I'm not sure I'd ever seen it happen...until just then.
A brown haired woman about the same age climbed quickly out of an expensive, German car.
Her clothing and accessories bespoke a woman of authority--very definitely corporate--but her face was lit up with the same kind of smile and the two women rushed into a giggling, screaming, jumping-up-and-down embrace babbling simultaneously like a couple of school-aged best friends who hadn't seen each other for a long while.
You could probably make a pretty strong argument that such a hyper-emotional display of public affection was inappropriate; silly, even.
But the thing of it is, neither one cared in the slightest what anyone else on that patio thought...what anyone else on earth thought.
I could only catch every third or fourth word of their conversation, but employing my heightened sleuthing skills I quickly surmised that these were indeed best friends reuniting after a long separation.
One lived in Colorado and the other in Las Vegas; one had been recently divorced and the other was dealing with a problem child at home and a less than secure position at the office; one had just sold a house and the other had just moved in to a new one.
In short, they had a lot of catching up to do.
After a few minutes I didn't really pay any attention to what they were saying; there was no need because their spirt and exuberance communicated far more than words.
Besides, seeing them there, seeing their joy and utter delight in just being together made me start thinking about friends and how few people seem to have really good ones.
Acquaintances there are many...but friends?
My eyes drifted over toward the corner of the patio where four elderly men gather each and every morning.
There they were--telling stories, laughing, bragging on grandkids, teasing each other about this or that, arguing about who was buying coffee the next day and where they were going to golf on Friday.
I sighed deeply, causing my beloved to tear her attention away from the morning's sudoku.
"You got an explanation to go along with that sigh?" she said quietly.
I said, "Not really."
Neatly folding the newspaper so as to provide a better frame for the puzzle she said, "Nope. Unacceptable. You sigh, you gotta say why. It's the rules."
She had me there.
It was a rule of longstanding in our house: You sigh...you gotta say why.
"Well," I said while rubbing my hands over a freshly shaved head. "I think I"m feeling melancholy."
"About..." she prompted.
"Oh, I don't know...friends, I suppose."
"What specifically about friends?"
I glanced at the old fellas, and then at the two women before saying, "I think I'm just missing something here."
"Friends?" she said. "You think you're missing friends?"
I nodded silently.
"But you've got Eddie."
"I know, and don't you dare say anything to him about this conversation or he'll pout for a week! It's not about that, anyway."
She shoved her sunglasses up onto her head and said, "Then, what?"
A parade of memories passed in review in front of the grandstand of my conscious mind; memories of friends who were once close but now thought of rarely, spoken to even less frequently than that.
Memories of pleasant times and conversations, sharing joy as well as pain; the pleasure of friends well-met and the heartbreak of saying goodbye, and saying goodbye, and saying goodbye...
And suddenly the parade turned into a cascade of faces belonging to people I've known from every place we've ever lived; good people, good friends long since lost.
It was all too much.
She touched my hand in that way of hers...that special touch reserved only for me.
"Baby, what's wrong?"
My eyes teared up and I said, "I'm just so tired of saying goodbye to people."
Nodding slowly she said, "This is about leaving Oceanside, isn't it?"
She was referring to my imminent return to being a full-time resident of Las Vegas.
I shook my head, "Yes," and dabbed at the corner of my eye with a shirt-sleeve.
I said, "I don't think I can do this anymore...you know, making friends and then leaving them behind."
She was silent for a few moments, which meant that something significant was about to be said.
A deep breath and then, "You could have stayed in touch with those people over the years, you know. But you didn't because you figured you'd lose them eventually anyway. Am I close?"
"Pretty darned."
"So it's as much a matter of self-defense, of self-preservation as it is anything else. It's like you sever the relationship preferring the immediate pain to the imagined eventual pain."
She was spot on.
"Thank-you, Dr. Phil," I said with a smile.
Returning her attention to the sudoku puzzle she said, "No charge."
I looked at the old men and then at the two women and said, "There are friends that are worth keeping."
"So keep them," she said without looking up.
I hate it when she's so right.
RG...out!
Comments
Dang she's good!
Kudos to the lovely Ms RGR
I know how you feel about that friendship/acquaintance thing. I have a few acquaintances, but very few real friends. I miss that sometimes.
Anyway, great post again. I never imagined all the things you could learn at a St. Arbucks.
i only have a handful of friends left, but really, i kinda prefer it that way...