A Tender Moment
I made plans a few days ago to meet up with an old friend. He was a classmate of mine from college and we’d lost touch after all these years, but he texted me that he was in town and we decided to go out for some drinks and reminisce about our time throwing around the frisbee on the freshman quad and that one time he played a prank on Mary Lou in front of her drama club. Granted, we were never best friends, but we were friends for sure. Well, we were friends Freshman year but kind of drifted apart as he became more of a serious squash player and I became closer with my music buddies. By the time we graduated, we were probably closer to acquaintances than actual friends.
Anyways, I suggested we meet up at a swanky bar in the posh side of town hoping to give off the impression that I’d done well after college. Of course, that meant I had to drive an hour and a half from my studio apartment and deal with the horrid LA traffic, but I was certainly willing to put in the hours if it meant my friend was going to be impressed. I already knew exactly what I was going to order – the “Mulholland” Salad with a shaken dirty martini -- and I practiced my rapport as I got dressed in front of my cracked mirror a few hours before the big night. I dressed smartly and causally – a trim button-down collared shirt tucked neatly into a stylish pair of black jeans, a neat comb-over to give the impression I get expensive haircuts, a few squirts of my favorite Roger Federer cologne, and a pair of black Aldo shoes...the type I see investment bankers wear.
As I drove over on the 405 with the afternoon sun beating down on my Prius (with a broken AC so I was sweating out of my ass), a daunting thought occurred to me. Oh, how could I have been so stupid as to not think of this before. I could have practiced it in the mirror! Stupid stupid stupid!
The terrible, wretched thought that made my whole body ache with anxiety, if you were wondering, was how I was going to greet him. Do you know that moment when you both see each other after not seeing each other for so long and are not quite sure how to interact? Do you go for a full-on hug? No, we weren’t that good friends. And what if I go for a hug and he goes for something else? No, too awkward. Maybe just a handshake? No...too formal – we weren’t closing a business deal after all. What about a dap up and fist bump? Probably not, too informal. Just a dap up? No, we aren’t in college anymore. Oh God, what am I going to do?
What was supposed to be a perfectly curated night of engaging yet lighthearted chit-chat and subtle brags about how awesome our lives turned out to be was now in complete jeopardy. Everyone knows that the first moment when you greet each other sets the tone for the rest of the night. A nervous sweat has now begun to pool under my armpits and clam up my hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel. Oh god, why did I pick a light blue shirt! The moment is quickly arriving – I see the restaurant and park on the adjacent street. Only a few moments to go before we finally make contact; the whole fate of our night and quite possibly the rest of our friendship lies in this one moment.
I’m slowly walking towards the restaurant, fists tight in uneasy tension and feet dragging, scraping against the pavement. Every animal instinct in my body is telling me to turn around and just tell him I got food poisoning, but he’s standing in front of the restaurant and waves over to me with a friendly smile spreading across his tan, symmetrical face.
Just as we get within speaking distance, I let my instincts take over: “Hey man, been a long time,” I say through a voice I don’t recognize as my own. He says hi and we go for a bro hug – 1 second 2 seconds 3 seconds go by as we grip hands and pull our bodies tight together in a friendly embrace. 4 seconds 5 seconds 6 seconds. Time seems to be slowing down, each moment dragging by as I feel his hot breath against my neck. 7 seconds 8 seconds, I can feel his clammy hands pressed firmly into mine. 9 seconds 10 seconds we stand there, not wanting to let go, too afraid to go on with the rest of the dinner. My heart was racing, though I wasn’t sure if it was due to the intimate human contact I had been craving for so long or my pent-up anxiety about the night.
I can feel the eyeballs of those nearby noticing our longer than usual embrace, but I don’t mind. I like the attention. We stand there for the whole night, never separating and never speaking another word after our initial pleasantries. Then, right as the clock struck midnight, as if we communicated telekinetically, we slowly separated, walked back to our respective cars, and drove home.
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