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Monday, January 15, 2007 There are times when I purposely arrive at language class early, when the small classroom is empty and quiet -- early enough that I can sit for a while, thinking and writing. I did that last Thursday evening and found myself remembering friends and loved ones from years past -- individuals who were featured players in my small existence for a while, playing a part, however big or small, that had an impact. Remembering and wondering where they are now, how they're doing, if they're alive or have checked out and returned to the Great Whatever. For instance: Henry, a pal from kindergarten. A kid with a friendly face, who wore owlish, black-framed glasses. The first guy I remember who felt like a real friend, someone who genuinely seemed to care on any given day how I was. We spent a lot of time together in class and in the playground, hung out quite a bit outside of school. Until, several months into the school year, he disappeared. Without warning. His family suddenly picked up and moved to Brooklyn, I never saw him or heard from him again. I remember going to his house, ringing the doorbell, hearing it echo hollowly inside, absorbing the first permanent disappearance of someone important that I'd ever experienced. Someone else: Patty. A year younger than me, and in a way my first girlfriend, though in the sweetest, most innocent way. For something like twelve months, my sixth grade year, we spent big quantities of time together -- mostly at her house on weekends, mostly talking, listening to music or the radio. We simply liked each other, enjoyed spending time together -- kind of amazing when I think about it now, given that I was an insecure little pudgeball and she was a bona fide cutie. There was no sex, none of the visible signs of heated-up adolescent love -- just tranquil togetherness, a quality that seems golden in retrospect. Other girls played a part in my life in those years, but none of them like this, no relationships that were as simple, tender and stress-free. And where is she now? No idea. Rick: a friend from elementary school and junior high, someone with whom I passed thousands of hours of idle goofiness, between playground, school lunchtimes and countless afternoons at his house. Smart, funny, a little weird. Played trombone. Contact waned in high school as we found ourselves traveling in different circles, but the few times that we spoke I found myself talking with someone I liked, an interesting person, genuine and likeable. Years later, during a two-year span spent in N.Y.C. -- during my one and only marriage -- an acquaintance from high school lived down the street. One weekend, out of the blue, he mentioned Rick was visiting -- an announcement that left me momentarily speechless (this acquaintance knew of my past connection with his houseguest, mentioned nothing about it until this passing remark). He seemed strangely reluctant to allow me access to Rick, the only contact I managed was a phone call, a conversation of a few minutes that felt great. And that was it -- the acquaintance made no effort to include me in anything that would have provided 3-D time with an old friend, the weekend passed, that was that. I've had no contact with Rick since then -- wherever he is, I hope he's happy, well, and still a little weird. [to be continued] España, te quiero. rws 8:06 AM [+]
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