We bummed cigarettes from each other. Blew
smoke rings across the Yorkton Regional loading dock.
Had nicknames for each other.
I was Jake, you were Schnitz.
We rode the same Yellowbird school bus. Our farms,
either side of the Yellowhead Highway, were mere miles apart.
I was skinny, you were short, but built like a Cockshutt tractor,
with the quickness of a Dodge Charger.
In the church basement, you drew up a chair beside me.
What should have been familiar—your sturdy bearing, blue eyes,
ready-to-laugh sideways smile, hair, still swept to one side,
thinning, greying, but signaling blond—at that moment, escaped me.
Forgive me.
I think you actually had to say your name.
Something about not being recognized feels like a shrug.
I knew the moment you felt it. You covered it, laughed, come on!
We carried on as adults, reminiscing.
There are expectations we carry with us. One is: how it will be
when an old friend, 40 years in, sees you again.
And what could I have said to remove the sting?
Funny how some things, seemingly minor, don’t allow undoing. And
the more personally rooted, the more impervious they are to words.
I couldn’t bridge it. And all our foolish-laden, yet gilded history
receded like dust in a prairie wind. Friend,
I want you to know I occasionally revisit that afternoon at the funeral.
It goes like this: I’m in the church basement waiting for you,
as I’d picked you out while I was giving my eulogy.
And when I see you carrying a chair over to my table,
I spring up and go to you, and we embrace in that guy way,
slap shoulders, and I say, Can I bum a smoke?
and you laugh that raucous high-school-laugh of yours.
“And all our foolish-laden, yet gilded history receded like dust in a prairie wind.” This brings a catch in my throat, threatening to become tears for both your losses and mine. Did you ever write to him afterward? Never mind….too personal. Thank you for daring to write the truth, as you always do.
Thank you, Ann. I’m always grateful for your knowing responses.
Sad, beautiful and with a magic only you can stir up
Your encouragement, Ananda, is ointment.
I often think of classmates or others, once important to me (whatever that means when you are young), who I have not seen since perhaps grade school or middle school. Would I know them if I saw them now, decades later? Probably not. Do they ever think of me? Probably not. How many people do we share a brief moment with (brief in the scheme of longevity), that are now forgotten by one or both parties? Why do some memories fade while others linger? Do not be hard on yourself, Stephen. Rather rejoice in the reconnection, albeit under sad circumstances, that brought back to the surface the raucous laugh, nicknames, and memories of farms and school bus rides.
Lately, as I recall fond memories of my youth, I wonder if the remembrances are accurate, embellished, or missing details so that they seem sweeter than the reality was at the time. Is this a survival tactic? Or with age and wisdom, do things that once seemed awful (in the dramatic sense that characterizes immaturity), pale in comparison to the good in life?
Thank you, Diane, you’re always thoughtful and insightful.
Powerful…sniff
Emojis don’t work on this platform but very powerful message that brought tears to my eyes.
Thank you, Kellie. That means a lot.
Poignant as usual Stephen. I met with a couple of old friends from 37 years back, in a bar in Victoria a couple of years ago. I had trouble finding them until I heard their voices, something that stayed with them after all those years. We shared stories of our childhood antics and howled with laughter.
Thanks for bringing back that memory.
You’re welcome, Kirk! And thanks for the personal anecdote. Treasured time.
ahhh, you perfectly captured the moment, the regret.
Maybe like your redo, this has also given me comfort over the years:
excerpt from “Friends of the Road”
….. “because in addition to our friends of the heart,
the traditional, everlasting ideal,
life is rich with friends of the road who travel
with you for a particular stretch and no farther.
These brief friendships are
equally intense,
equally necessary,
equally worth treasuring as any other,
and for the duration of that time
you can’t survive without them.”
Wonderful! Thank you, Deane.
Oof – I would do this and probably have. In fact I do a more minor version of it often – my memory betrays me often. And you are right – there is no undoing it. I hate these moments because their victims deserve so much better.
You’ve captured this so well – thanks.
Thanks, Dave. Your company is truly appreciated.
A childhood friend did that to me a couple of years ago. But at my advanced age, it’s expected – I perhaps enjoyed the moment too much!
🙂 Thanks, Sam.