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Reaching out

Perhaps it’s my age, but every so often a memory of an old friend surfaces in my mind like the head of a seal in the stillness of a harbour. Heaven only knows why; as an octogenarian there are so many quiet harbours from which to choose; so many people who were more to me than faces in a passing crowd. But most of them are gone now -moved on like people at a crosswalk when the traffic light has turned.

It’s interesting why some have lingered though, if only somewhere on the sidewalk in my head. I’ve often wondered why it’s only some who return to visit; I suppose it’s mainly those who had some effect on me, good or bad…

For example, I never really liked Richard when I was young; he could do everything I couldn’t. He was popular; I was the short little kid with braces, and thick glasses with butterscotch frames who blushed too much; Richard was the guy who sat at the back of each class joking with the jocks -the guys on his football team, hockey team, or baseball team; I sat in the front row with the girls so I could see what the teacher was writing on the blackboard with her squeaky chalk: worlds apart.

Richard and I had little in common, he only spoke to me if he happened to bump into me in the hall, and even then only to tell me not to get in his way all the time. I don’t think he liked me; and I was wary of him. Nowadays he only surfaces in my head as a face I sometimes think I recognize in the crowd that jostles around in there. At times like that, I wonder what happened to him after high school. I certainly never ran into him in my university; I never heard of him playing on any of the teams there. I suppose he’s a salesman somewhere…

I do remember John, though. He, too was a short kid, but muscular and he often intervened if he saw Richard bullying me in the hall, or sneering at me at a pick-up game in summer when nobody wanted to have me on their team. John and I became good friends over the years; he would often  invite me over for dinner at his house, or want go to the occasional movie with me.

Although we ended up at the same university, it was difficult to do much with him; his focus was on engineering; he knew what courses were required to get him to get into that faculty. I kind of floated around in my courses out of interest, not aiming for any particular destination; courses on English literature, Religious Studies, Philosophy, Biology… I had always been interested in writing, and the subjects in the university courses inspired me like nothing in high school ever had… I was toying with the idea of some sort of degree in journalism, but John just shook his head each time I mentioned it, I remember. He didn’t understand why I would want to do something as vacuous as trying to write for a living. It was really the only thing we disagreed about.

I have no idea how I eventually ended up in Medicine, but nevertheless, John seemed to accept my curiosity in those first few years, and occasionally we met for dinner in the raucous campus restaurant where students worked off their frustrations from the day. Neither of us drank, or smoked but I remember we were both fascinated by the noisy mayhem around us.

But the days when we were able to talk and enjoy each other’s company became fewer and fewer as his courses became more and more difficult, and his girlfriends increasingly demanded more of what free time he had. Eventually, as both of our lives became more complex we lost track of each other: me because I changed universities after completing my initial degree and entered medical school; he because he was becoming overwhelmed with his courses. I suppose that is the fate of most childhood friendships, though; only fond memories remain.

Many years later though, I received an Email from him; he had read one of my essays online and decided to let me know he had enjoyed it. We were both in our dotage, and the sudden memory his Email had provoked made me want to contact him while I could. I had no idea where he’d ended up, but if he was in another city, I suggested by return Email that we FaceTime, or WhatsApp each other rather than having a simple phone call; I was curious to see how he’d weathered the years; to see what kind of a house he was living in; to find out if Engineering was all he’d hoped it would be.

He replied, that he would ask his son if he’d help him figure out how to FaceTime on his laptop; apparently his eyesight was not as good as it used to be; but he was game to try. We had a lot to catch up on, he was sure.

He got in touch with me a week or two later on a rather poor connection, but I was excited nonetheless. He was FaceTiming me in a bare little room, I assumed must be where he kept his computer. There were no pictures on the wall, and I couldn’t see any furniture, but perhaps it was just the angle of the screen he was using. Still, he seemed to fit the room: he looked old and his skin more wrinkled than I remembered; his hair was sparsely arrayed on a head that seemed constantly to shake. His voice was also weaker than the one in my memory, but perhaps mine, too, had changed for him.

His smile, though was genuine and just as I remembered it. He still had a dimple when he pursed his lips, and even though his eyes seemed more recessed in their sockets, they still twinkled when he laughed.

“I’m sorry the room is so drab, G, but it’s where the WiFi seems to work the best.”

I smiled at that; my best reception is at my living room table. There was an awkward silence that followed his explanation, however. “Actually… I’m in a Care Home now; I’m getting old, eh?” he was silent for a moment. “And how about you? You must be in your 80ies by now too, I think.”

I nodded and smiled. “My kids come over and help with some of the cleaning, but they haven’t shipped me out yet…” He mounted a weak smile at that, but stayed silent. “So how did your career in Engineering go?” It had been so important to him in the old days; I just had to ask.

He shrugged as if it were a silly question, and then sighed. “I dropped out after the first year after being accepted in in the faculty…It wasn’t at all what I thought it would be…” I tried to keep my expression neutral. “No, I ended up in sales -mostly automobiles, but eventually as a representative for a large auto company… I think I got out in the nick of time, eh?” His voice was getting weaker and softer as he talked.

He seemed to be tiring quickly and after a bout of coughing, I could hear a voice in the background saying he should probably go back to his room and rest.

He smiled guiltily at me, and nodded to the voice. “It was great hearing from you again, G. We must do this again, eh?”

The screen went blank, and I was left with a set of new memories of John. But, you know, I prefer the old ones; it didn’t really seem as if I’d been talking to John.

Perhaps it’s better to let old memories lie where they are stored. What was it that the poet Khalil Gibran wrote? ‘Memory is an autumn leaf that murmurs a while in the wind and then is heard no more’.

Amen to that…

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