The Meeting
2013
I
intentionally park my new Rav4 Toyota a couple blocks away, not because I want
to find a safe spot for my vehicle, but because I don’t want “him” to see me
first.
As
I walk down the sidewalk towards the popular Brick House Bar and Grill, the
warmth of the late afternoon sun warms my face and arms like a dry sponge
absorbing its first drops of water.
Oregonians never take sunrays for granted, which is why I choose this particular
eating establishment. It harbors a row of quaint bistro tables strategically
placed in a row, outlining the outside rim of the restaurant. The only thing
between them and the sidewalk is a black decorative wrought-iron fence, almost
giving it a New Orleans appearance. It is quite picturesque, as the sun filters down through the
trees onto the tables.
My
heart beats faster, and I force myself to take an extra deep breath. Just a few more steps and I will be in
view. Five, four, three, two...He
is sitting looking directly at me, as I take one-more-step up to the fence…I
let my breath out, realizing I had been holding it. “Daniel.” I say, with a smile attached.
“Hi
Dori,” he warmly replies, and I realize this is the first time I have heard his
voice.
I
am now as close to the fence as one could possibly be before falling over it.
He stands up and approaches me.
Without giving my arms any direction whatsoever, they reach up to hug
him so naturally, as if it was something I had been doing for years. “Wow, we
finally meet.” I say, while resisting letting go of our hug.
“Well,
are you going to stand there, or are you going to join me?” He jokes with a
soft hint of a laugh.
“Great
idea.” I kid back. “Save my seat.” We both smile, and I eagerly walk to the
entrance of the restaurant.
Ten
months ago, I was quick to “accept” Daniel’s friend-request on Facebook, because
we had something in common. We had
spent 1970 – 1974 together in high school, 1,000 miles from here. However…I couldn’t remember him. I even
asked a few of my fellow high school friends if they remembered him. No one seemed to remember Daniel Roney,
so I let time pass without any communication. Then a month ago, I saw an awesome picture of him on
Facebook, at Mt Rushmore National Memorial. He and his twenty-two year-old
daughter took a six-week road trip in a convertible from the West Coast to the
East Coast, and back again, all along the way taking pictures and posting them
on Facebook. Looking good Daniel, I posted on his page. This began our communication. Shortly
after, we started “messaging” each other. Shortly after that, we started “texting”
on our phones…nightly. Then we
began counting the days until his return.
I
make my way through the Brick House, toward the outside seating area. While
navigating the haphazard placement of the tables, I feel excited, nervous, and
afraid. I worry that he will not
live up to my expectations, or I his.
I walk out the door and down the ramp to his table. I sit down opposite
him.
I
sense that I have met up with a long lost friend. There is comfort, peace, and trust, as well as a playfulness that
builds to a crescendo of belly laughs that come only with a lifetime of
shared experiences…except that this is the first time we have met. Although the restaurant was busy when I
arrived, I have tuned out everyone and everything. Nothing exists beyond our table.
We
reminisce about our high school days, the classes and friends we shared, and
laugh about how we never met. We even
discover that we recently were at the same barbeque…and bypassed each other. Hours pass. There will not be enough
time tonight for us to say all that we want to say.
The
sun is setting. It is getting late.
Neither of us wants to say goodbye. We look each other in the eyes.
“Daniel, I have an idea.”
“What
are you thinking?” He asked with an inquisitive look.
“Let’s take a walk.”
He
takes my hand…and it begins.
