I slid into the seat across from him, pulled my Southwest Salad from the bag, and unfolded a napkin. How long had it been since we talked? Looking across the table, I noticed the signs of aging on his face. I’m sure he noticed my patches of gray, too. It’s been too long.
“How have you been, bro?” he asked, while wiping the corner of his mouth, then tossing the napkin on the table.
“Good. How about you?”
Our conversations always seem to start with this exchange, but within seconds, it’s like we’ve never become adults, and allowed our responsibilities to impede our getting together.
“Whatcha, been writing lately?” He asked, taking another bite of his chicken sandwich.
“A few things, here and there. Nothing too elaborate.” This led our conversation down a rabbit trail of discussion about various books, branching off into diatribes about all the ills of the world. It was good to see his face and return to old conversations and start new ones. We talked well past our lunchtime, but neither seemed to mind.
Finally, when we stood to leave, he said, “Bro, we need to do this more often.”
“Yeah man, we do. Let’s get back together soon.”