Fortuitous Reunion

Lapsed friendship to be resumed?

This evening, half-way into my walk home from my volunteer “job” — smiling at needy people to whom I hand a takeout supper — I was hailed by an old friend driving by.

I’d let the friendship lapse on account of Anna’s ingratitude as regards an invitation to dinner, in response to which she’d accused me — baselessly — of plotting to “fix her up.” (I cannot abide that expression; it implies a woman is broken if she doesn’t have a guy.)

I hadn’t seen Anna for three years, save for three chance encounters, following which we fell into step.

On the first occasion, we passed a few hours at our old haunt, so to speak — meandering the cemetery.

On the second occasion, we reprised our long-time favorite Sunday jaunt — thrift-shop hopping.

On the third occasion, we happened upon each other whilst en route to separate destinations. Upon our parting, Anna said I should call her because she’s never able to reach me.

Her spurious excuse put me off. I said the phone works in both directions, and there we left it.

So it was that two years passed.

When Anna slowed this evening to greet me, she was smiling. Caught off guard, I hopped in the car, and she drove me home.

I invited her in; it seemed ungracious not to.

She hesitated, on account of having just purchased perishables.

I told her she could stash them in my fridge.

She did so whilst I “prepared” a light supper (nuked leftovers from lunch).

I set the (imitation) crab soup and the warmed flatbread on the backyard picnic table, after which we proceeded to christen the chairs I’d bought at a yard sale last weekend. (Three bucks each!)

We stayed outside for another forty minutes, after which Anna retrieved her groceries.

I walked Anna to her car; we dawdled awkwardly in our goodbyes.

Anna tentatively suggested we plan an excursion.

This time, she didn’t tell me I should be the one to call.

Therefore, I am inclined to do so.

Perhaps she’ll beat me to the punch.

This piece was written sometime in the summer of 2021 … 2020 …? As it was, neither of us made an overture.