TIME WAS when we only met in the classroom. All the moments we shared then, not merely as friends but classmates and acquaintances to most, simply revolved around that person of authority standing in front of our little world at the moment.
Uncomplicated enough, at the end of day and without much of a last glimpse, we all headed for home during the late afternoon.
Our last school bus ride for the day just proved our parting is just all temporary.
By next morning, we are all at it again, fearless and facing a new school day with fresh uniforms and the briefest tales of what transpired at home or what was on TV the night before.
These memories of high school, some of them so vivid and in living color while others merely coated in dull grey, flash by between the present-day distractions that play before our eyes, as we now sit quietly and sip our espresso in the dimly-lit coffee shop you own.
Not much energy and less talk this time, as though we are just content on just looking out at passersby while they hurry past our coffee window.
I remember that back in our youth, we had so many stories we told each other, the bus rides to and from school were never a dull affair.
It didn’t even matter much if I, at one time or another, discovered some fantastic stories from you were make-believe. But I listened anyway. Now I admit, I had on several occasions, made up some of my own. In a sense, we knew about each other’s little lies and BS and that was alright.
The important thing, I guess, was we only chose to share them with those closest to us, if at all.
What we didn’t realize, these little episodes might have been portent of things to come because, much later during and immediately after the college years, when our tall tales shifted to more serious pursuits, like girls, girls, graduation or a final paper on Nietzsche, seeing less and less of each other as our other friends seemed to scatter in all directions, came so naturally with everyone.
And then, poof, our golden years were gone.
Thinking back, I’ve realized what we’ve shared through those years were the lighter moments which all but veiled whatever darker secret we had, not that we cared so much to know about that.
It’s only now that we’re either brave or more mature enough that we’re more open about real life struggles, not appropriately fit for the foolish posture of our youth. We’re more open now, in our old age. Too bad, hang-ups were the in-thing during our past.
Perhaps, they still are. But that’s not our problem anymore. Let’s just watch life’s parade through our windows.
