When you bump into him it’s the first time you’ve seen him in ten years. He looks the same.
“You look even better,” he says.
You do it at his place. He isn’t married, just like back then. He’s barely employed, just like back then. He’s still good in bed, just like back then. You tell him he hasn’t changed at all.
“I cry more now,” he says. “Sometimes for days at a stretch. Normal I suppose.”
You cry less.
“I also have more trouble going into buildings sometimes now,” he says. “Occasionally I’ll just start walking toward a building entrance and I’ll have to turn around and run. Part of aging I guess.”
That hasn’t happened to you yet.
“I also find myself following men who look well put together to see how they live and find out what they figured out. Is that something that just happens after 35?”
Yeah you don’t really do that at all.
“Anyway want to meet my squirrels?” he asks.
You tell him you have to head home.
“To your squirrels?” he asks, a little uneasy.
You don’t have any squirrels but just to calm him down you say, “Yes. They’re waiting for their nuts.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. He gave you a taste of your past, and you gave him the false hope that his present isn’t as off-course as he suspects it might be.
Happy He Cries More Now Day!
