On Old Friends

Some friends stay with you forever.  Even if you haven't talked to them in months or years, they still hold a piece of your heart.  There's a fondness there for all the old inside jokes.  For Orange Juice and The Four Horsemen.  For midnight raids on Bancroft Tower and Chucky.  The memories make me smile as do thoughts of the people I share those memories with.

I'm pretty bad at staying in touch with the friends who meant the most to me.  I can only hope that they know I think of them way more that I email. 

The past couple weeks have been full of people getting back in touch with me.  It's strange how things happen all at once like that.

Most of them really were, and still are, wonderful friends who I am thrilled to talk to.  But there are a couple who crept into the happy mix and I have to wonder how.  Those are the creepy ones.  The ones that you barely talked to in high school, but were nice to out of courtesy.  Ten years later, they send an email wanting to catch up like you were best friends… 

Actually there's just one creepy one.  Guy from high school, always a big loser.  Honestly, I hadn't spared a moment thinking of him until he emailed me.  And then I had to wonder what must his life be like to reach out to long-expired acquaintances.  Does he really have no one else from our alma mater to connect with?  How many "Hey, long time, how have you been?" emails did he send out?  I'll return the greeting, but the communication will be shallow and quickly wane.  He's just not a part of those memories.

So to him, I hope the Fates treat you kind and I hope you have better friends than me.

To the rest, I could promise to email more often or send out monthly updates on my life.  Instead though, I'll promise to hold the memories close and be thankful each time our lives wind their ways back together.  Even if it's just for the span of a few lines of mail. 

One Response to “On Old Friends”

  1. Rich Says:

    Oh god… Chucky… the expression on his face at the end of all that still makes me cackle. That alone was worth having to string the poor sonuvabitch along for two months.

    That and the sheep story. And his email signature.

    Shit, if I wrote about him in a story nobody would believe it.

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