"Do you remember that one time when we literally ran into each other at Whole Foods? Let's not let another five years go by before we run into each other again."

 I was sitting at my dinning room table and the internet had just kicked.  My oldest home from school because of a football injury the day before.  I had just given him permission to download Fortnite after he had begged me for a solid 6 months.  I restarted the router and my phone made the noise it does to tell me I had a Facebook messenger message.  It was your sister.  She needed my phone number.  I gave it to her and she called.

She told me you were gone.  She told me what her mother had found.  I asked what I could do and she gave me a list of people to contact. But when I hung up all I could think to do was go and sit next to my son on the couch.  He asked me what had happened and I told him.  He asked me if I was OK and I said, "No.  But I will be.  If it is OK with you I am just going to sit here and hug you for a minute."  And sat together that Monday morning on the couch. Watching the Fortnite download approach 100%.  Me knowing that my life was forever altered by your absence.

"Wouldn't it be cool to have a cafe in Deering Oaks again?"

 I am returning my Target cart when I pass you.  25 years since I have seen your face.  More then that since we dated in high school.  Both of us searching for something to hold on to.  I pause for a moment. "Tim," I say.  "Hi."  You recognize me right away and we exchange the pleasantries of two people who had not shared the history we have.  By the time I am back in my car my hands are shaking.  I am 14 again and lost in your eyes when I hear a tap on my window.  You are standing outside my car holding a cigarette as though no time has passed.  I get out and face you.

"I have wanted to say I'm sorry for so long."  You say.  I shake my head.

"There is no need."  But you insist.  Saying it again and again.  Apologizing for all that was said and what wasn't said.  We learn that after all these years we live by a mile apart.  Both married.  Wounds we had both forgotten lay open before us. 10 minutes later we have said goodbye and I start my car and turn for home.  The ice cream I bought for the kids surly melting in the trunk.  As I pull out of the Target parking lot Another Auld Lang Syne by Dan Folgerberg comes on the radio.  Random on any day, but today it brings me to tears.  All the things you think you would say to your old lover caught  just on the tip of your tongue.

"Nana and Pa are babysitting at our house (and the kids acted like they were rock stars when the got there) and we are off to dinner with the siblings which doesn't happen nearly as often as it should."

 Your life was not the stuff made for TV movies were made of, but your death was.  You married your college sweetheart on Saturday after a week of torrential rain.  The skies clearing and making way for a million stars as we made our way into the reception.  You bought a condo, and told me you were pregnant with your daughter at the company Christmas party.  Only confessing when you pushed the waiter to know if their were anchovies in the Ceaser Salad and nursing a ginger ale instead of your usual Cape Codder.  You brought her to the company picnic that summer, only a few weeks old and we sat together marveling at her while everyone around us ate lobster.

A few years later we were pregnant at the same time.  Me with my first and you with twins.  You came to visit when I bought my house, laughing at my lack of furniture.  You happily worked as the Office Manager while I fought to climb a ladder that was never achievable.  You were content and happy in your life while I always wanted something more.

You don't ever forget the feeling in your stomach when you get the call that someone you love is gone.  Made worse when it is sudden and violent.  When they are young.  Your life was not the stuff made for TV movies are made of.  But it was a good life. Cut short. By your college sweetheart that you married the night the rain stopped.

"The first wall goes up ..."

For James it was always a physical sensation when he started to shut down.  When the conversation became too personal.  "Was that what holidays were like for you to?" Someone would ask and he would feel a tightness in his chest.  A feeling of discomfort in his bowels.  He had mastered the lie. "Oh yes." He would say.  But he was already gone.  Already moved past the conversation and thinking about how to extract himself from the social situation.  Sometimes he would pretend his phone vibrated and say he had to take a call.  "Excuse me." he would say.  "I have to take this."  He would drop a $20 on the table that covered more than his share and leave.  In the anonymity of street he would be able to breath again.  Strangers who didn't have questions passing him without a thought.