24th
Strangers on a Train
Whenever I took public transportation home during college, there was basically a 100% chance that I’d run into someone I knew. This wasn’t surprising, of course—we were all on more or less the same academic schedule, and few of us had the requisite independence or wherewithal to make plans to do anything other than return to our parents’ homes.
I imagine this doesn’t reflect well on me, but I always sort of enjoyed these impromptu reunions. We’d catch up and reminisce and fill each other in on gossip we’d heard about mutual acquaintances, we’d make half-hearted but sincere sounding promises to hang out while we were both on break, and then we’d go our separate ways, feeling slightly pleased about how well we were able to get along now that the drama of high school was comfortably in the past. It was sort of like the whitewashing that happened when we signed each other’s yearbooks senior year. We all liked and admired each other and had great memories we’d always share and were going to miss each other so so much. KIT xoxo etc etc.
Now, I actually go back to my hometown much more than I ever did when I was in college, because I (somewhat inexplicably) work there part time. Not all that surprisingly, though, despite the uptick in my travels, the probability of my running into high school classmates has dropped to something closer to 0%. We’re no longer on the same schedule, we no longer all have family living in the same town, or maybe we just no longer recognize each other. Also, bonding after seven years is much harder than after seven months. However! When these increasingly awkward interactions do occur, we give it the ol’ college (high school?) try. Generally, the surprise at running into one another takes up most of the conversation, followed by a brief summary of Adult Life So Far (I live in Brooklyn, I used to work in publishing, but now I’m going to teach, I got married, how are you?), followed by increasingly prolonged silences, followed by someone admitting defeat and giving some excuse for ending the conversation. We leave feeling not quite as rosy as we did a few years ago—more like we’d just done a Good Deed, and are happy we at least made the effort. Sigh, how times change, etc etc.
This is all to say that I was on the train today, and I happened to turn around and catch the eye of a guy I had been pretty good friends with senior and junior year. Despite being good friends then, we had completely lost touch once I turned that tassel from one side to the other—to the point where I really couldn’t have said with any conviction whether he was still alive or not. I immediately started nervously cataloging things to say/ask—he was a pretty laconic guy at the best of times, so most of the onus of the conversation would be on me, and it can be a pretty long train ride, so it could potentially be awkward, but it would be good to catch up! After all, I do have some life plot points worth relating, and I imagine he’s been doing something for the past seven years, since it turns out he hasn’t spent them being dead after all.
Anyway.
He was on the phone, but he saw me, too. He nodded—not in an “oh my god! So weird to see you! I’ll come say hey once I’m off the phone” kind of way, but the way you might nod to a person you see everyday on your commute. You’re certainly not friends, and you have absolutely no desire to even attempt to strike up a conversation, but a certain camaraderie has developed from sharing a similar routine.
Apparently that was all that my sudden reappearance in his life meant. As I was recovering from the shock of his blatent disregard for awkward reunion norms, I remembered that in addition to being laconic, he had also always been kind of an asshole.
KIT, xoxo!
