Meetings done. Back downtown. Two coffees in and I’m bouncing in the legs. I try to keep synchronicity but my right is faster.

I ran into a friend from middle school the other day on the train. I suppose it has been a couple weeks now, actually. It was an extraordinary experience. What happened was that I heard my name called and I looked around and didn’t see anyone I recognized. I heard it again and saw it had come from a man sitting across from me. As I looked at him looking at me, I couldn’t imagine who he was or why/how he knew my name. After a few seconds of confusion, I began to see a young face materialize from the ether, an image super-imposed over the man’s face, and it was that of an old classmate who I hadn’t seen in at least 20 years.

We were never close friends or anything but coming from a small school in the woods connects you to everyone from that space. The chances of such an encounter are improbable. Yet, it happened. I called out his first and last name and he grinned widely.

The speck of grey hair on his temples was highly concerning.

We’ll meet up to swap stories next weekend and I can’t wait to see what that will be like. I particularly want to hear how he describes our hometown, our formative environment, especially from this new vantage point of NYC. Maybe this vantage point isn’t new for him as it is for me, maybe he’s been here since 8th grade. That’s about the last time I remember him, before I left and didn’t come back.

I have two memories: his dad bought him a baseball glove by Raleigh that cost $135 when we were in the Babe Ruth league. I remember seeing the soft brown leather of his professional glove and feeling how different it was from mine, a cheap, pale glove that had to be Vaselined every couple of weeks to stay together, and was probably even only 50% actual leather. I remember wondering how it must feel to catch a ball in such a glove as his.

My only other memory is seeing him on a ski mountain, my first time skiiing, and watching how easily and gracefully he glided down the mountain, so confidently and skillfully. I remember how hard it was for me to turn on my non-dominent side and how tired my legs became from trying to be graceful. I remember when I crashed so hard, and all my rented stuff went in every possible direction, like an atom smashing, that it was he who came over. He said: “Wow, that was incredible! Are you OK?”

“Yeah, I was trying something. No big deal.”

When all I was really trying to do was the opposite of what I did do.

I’ll see if he remembers that.

Much writing this afternoon and I’ll get to it now before my black coffee wears off and I get tempted for another round. Enjoy this great day.