It had been nearly twenty years since we had last seen each other, and now he's stepping out of his white rental car, crossing my front yard in the light rain with a grin on his face.
We greeted each other without profusion, as if it had been just yesterday that we had parted. The café where we had met that last time no longer existed where we had lived half the world away, and added to our belts were two decades of assorted accomplishments and failures. Yet between us, it felt as if no interruption had ever taken place. He was now sitting in my chair, talking in the same peculiarly accented voice, showing the same insouciance towards everything in life.
We went out for dinner despite the rain that was getting heavier. I noticed that he still had his trademark gait, an awkward one caused by his feet kept too far apart resulting in an exaggerated swinging of his upper body. He remarked that I still had the same slightly lopsided smile and way of tapping my fingers on the table. The rest of our conversation was strictly current -- not much sense in reminiscing about the past when there is so much of the present, we tacitly agreed.
We said goodbye just as casually as when we had said hello. No big deal having been apart for twenty years or meeting again for just a couple of hours, for we would always be at ease with and understand each other no matter what.