I was looking for that shock of red hair, that unmistakable crimson mane waving about in the mid-morning drizzle as I sipped my decaffeinated latte. I’d already scorched my tongue on it, impatient person that I am, too eager for that first sip that I couldn’t possibly let it cool off for a spell. And while I felt the burn on my tongue tingle (a tingling that I knew would last a full twenty-four hours, as I burn my tongue often), I tapped the heel of my black ankle-length leather boots on the terra cotta and chocolate brown squares of ceramic tile flooring of Starbucks Café, letting the whirring sounds of machines, the hiss and gurgle of the steaming pipe as it frothed milk and the tamping of espresso grounds fill my ears as I waited for her.
Commuters came and went, walking out with their preferred coffee drink, some with bagged pastries. I watched out the window I had seated myself by as cars pulled in and parked. Their drivers would emerge and I would subsequently sigh as each one of their faces came into view, their hair color, hair style and physical stature not resembling her in the least. Even though I had talked to her through these wonderful social networking sites that grow larger in their membership by the day and knew that she had not changed much at all physically, I wondered how much she had changed personality-wise, how her life experiences, whatever they might be, had reshaped her over the years. I muddled over how much I had changed and hoped that these changes would not make for an unbearably awkward meet-and-greet. After all, this meeting was about to put us face-to-face for the first time in nearly twelve years. I was terribly anxious about things going well and I had the underarm sweat to prove it.
I glanced at my watch, fully aware that the minute hand was nearing the appointed time: 10 am. I am a person who is almost always early for everything – I insist on being prompt and cannot stand to be late because I believe it reflects poorly on me. It just so happens that it’s also a pet peeve of mine, the people who are late for appointments with me or that involve me earning my immediate albeit temporary consternation. Unfair, I know – I don’t know all the circumstances behind their tardiness but it annoys me nonetheless when the minutes tick by and I have no explanation for why they’ve not yet arrived.
It was this very irksome feeling that drove me to want to text her and inquire whether she was indeed running late, even though it was only four minutes past the hour. Instead, I let my mind wander upon small detail. What kind of car did she drive and did it fit her personality? What would she be wearing? How much had her sense of style changed? What would we talk about?
10:05 am. The worrywart in me shoved aside my sensible self and took over every thought pattern. Was I even at the right Starbucks? Yes, I was. We had agreed to meet here and I was pretty sure I hadn’t confused it with some other place. Did she change her mind about meeting me? Was I being “stood up”, as it were?
And then I lost the fight. I started rummaging through my purse for my cell phone to send a text inspired by pure neuroticism, only to realize I’d left it in my car hooked up to the charger. Cursing under my breath, I gathered my purse and my keys, leaving my leather coat, latte and small notebook behind (something I’d been furiously scribbling my thoughts on while waiting) and made the journey back outside to pluck it from the drink holder in the front console.
And there she was, that shock of red hair I had combed the grounds for framing her fair and lightly freckled complexion. In my eyes, she hadn’t aged a day. I stood in brief awe of how familiar and comfortable this all was and as she spoke to me she embraced me, a luminous toothy smile scrunching mischievous blue eyes. I hated to walk away at that moment for a silly cell phone, but I did so and she went on in ahead of me, taking her place in line with other customers.
The next three hours were a whirlwind of conversation with not one uncomfortable lull in our animated dialogue. It was like nothing had changed, save for the fact that we were married and both had two young children. As we talked, laughed and shared thoughts and opinions on a dizzying number of subjects (gay marriage, gun control, mental illness, etc. – you name it, we discussed it), I suddenly became incredibly thankful for modern technology and the ability to reconnect with old friends who, for all I knew, had disappeared off the face of the planet. Though some may denigrate these social networking sites (Facebook, in my case), it was those skeptics’ views of a technological bane that made it possible for me to sit in that Starbucks with my friend and re-forge a bond we’d made all those years ago, a bond that I think both of us sorely underestimated. I realized how much I’d been missing by not getting out and seeing these friends that I had such a fondness for and it made me even more resolute in my desire to continue to pursue these meetings. After being cooped up in a small house with two young children for over two years with virtually no friends and/or social life to speak of, this meeting (as well as a few others before it with two other friends) galvanized that bewildered and lonely spirit inside of me that had perpetually bemoaned the connections that had been broken by a combination of time and life’s own hectic, ongoing schedule.
Most importantly, it made me realize the importance of friends in my life. Without them I am lost, a metaphorical castaway on a raft at sea that navigates depthless waters for ages and never finds blessed shore.
So thank you, my friend. Thank you for the time you spent with me. My loneliness and isolation have been relieved once again by the remedy of reconnection and I feel healthier in mind and spirit with each dose. I look forward to many more generous doses of this wonderful drug.
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