Spring Comes to the Big City

And what better way to celebrate than with a Philharmonic concert at Lincoln Center?

Okay, back to grading papers.

Reunion

Today I saw a friend from grade school whom I had not seen in almost 40 years. We had not kept in touch since we went our different ways after ninth grade, and in fact I have few distinct memories of him but a very vivid sense of him as having been part of the crowd I went around with in those days. I got in touch with him a few months ago via that ubiquitous social media site that we all find our old friends on these days, and we have been talking, a bit, and then he was coming to town to visit relatives (he does not live here) and asked if I wanted to get together (I had in fact suggested that he look me up when and if he was in town). I said yes and invited him over for brunch and perhaps a walk in the park afterwards.

When I went downstairs to let him in we just grinned at each other and then hugged. I don't know if I would have known him on the street, but when I saw him at my door, I had this flash of the big blond boy from junior high school who once said something shockingly risque to me when we were in sixth grade. (I did not remind him of this.)

He is even taller now, still blond, with lovely blue eyes. He brought six bagels and whitefish salad. I, for my part, had also bought six bagels, and lox. This is what you do when you get together for brunch and you grew up together in Jewish Brooklyn.

While I made coffee and got the food out, and as we were eating, we talked about the various paths we had taken since 9th grade. We have done some of the same things (grad school, PhD in English, teaching) but at different times in our careers and also combined in different ways with other pursuits. We continued talking as we walked out to the park, our talk of the present interspersed with names of teachers I had almost forgotten and 40-year-old gossip about people we went to school with, some of whom, sadly, are no longer among the living.

In the park we sat on a bench looking out at the lake and the ducks, sharing war stories about teaching. After a while, I asked him, "So what do you feel like doing?" He shrugged and said, "I don't know." Then he said, "I'm going to head back into the city." "Okay," I said, and we started walking back to where he had parked his car, near my building.

At my corner we hugged, said we'd keep in touch, parted. I thanked him for coming out to Brooklyn, he said he'd send me his materials about teaching grammar.

Now, lying on the couch debriefing myself (and enjoying how clean my apartment is in the aftermath of having a visitor), I am feeling wistful. Because I feel attracted to this lovely guy from my past but also because I am longing for the past itself, wishing I could just hide myself in those junior high school years and not come out for awhile. At least until things get better.

Can't do that, I know.

At least I will have plenty of bagels for the foreseeable future.