Good morning,
The other day I looked up which movies were playing at a nearby AMC. I was surprised when I saw a listing for the re-release of Rad, a 1986 movie about BMX biking. I’d watched this obscure movie on VHS a few times at the home of one of my best childhood friends, David. I don’t remember much about the film itself, except that David loved it and he’d want to watch it on occasion when I’d play at his house after school (in the late 80s). I hadn’t thought of or heard anything about it since then, but the moment I saw the title, it reminded me of David. I was curious about how he was doing. I screenshotted the poster and, though I hadn’t spoken with him in at least a decade, I texted him the screenshot.
David moved away from Skokie when we were both about six, and we serendipitously reconnected during my sophomore year of high school. As my dad and I approached Stevenson, my new high school, on a drive from Skokie to Lincolnshire, he casually said, “I think your old friend David moved out to Buffalo Grove all those years ago. I wonder if he goes here or BG.” This was 1997. I couldn’t text David and see if he went to SHS. I could only wonder.
The moment my dad and I walked into one of the many administration offices, I saw my old friend David. His blond-white hair was unmistakable. We both remembered exactly who each other were. We spoke for a few moments before I got called in to meet with my new guidance counselor. David and I didn’t exchange numbers (no cell phones), and when we parted, we were both casual about hoping to see each other around school.
I spotted David in the lunchroom on my first day; he invited me to sit with him and his friends. I met my new best friend that day (through David), and though we didn’t become as close as when we were youngsters, David and I did hang out here and there and even reconnected after college. (My last memory of us being together is when we watched the Bears lose in the Super Bowl at his high-rise apartment by the Alfred Caldwell Lily Pool; he and his then-girlfriend/now-wife made delicious ribs in a slow cooker).
Part of what prompted me to send the Rad screenshot to David, instead of just thinking about doing it, was an article I’d recently read by Frank Bruni, titled “The Friends Who Got Away.” Bruni writes of a dear friend whom he’d lost touch with:
“We’re onetime confidants who never had a falling out, never said a proper goodbye, simply evaporated from each other’s lives like dew from a blade of grass.
I’m haunted by how many times, and with how many friends, that has happened. By how the bustle of our lives and the bustle in our heads take people away from us, though we never intended to let them go. By how unintentional, unavoidable and subtly but stubbornly sad that is.”
Before becoming a dad and when I lived in the heart of Chicago, I prided myself on having strong connections with many longtime friends. Between meetings, band practice, cultural events and random run-ins at cafes and restaurants, my life was situated in a way where I’d see my closest friends every week, both in predictable and spontaneous ways. Not until I’d lost this kind of lifestyle did I realize how essential these interactions and connections actually were for my well-being.
Bruni continues:
“I’m lucky. I’ve lived in enough different places, had enough different professional opportunities and met a wide enough variety of people to have struck up many friendships. But that tremendously good fortune has also led me to a cold and bitter truth: There are too few hours in a day and days in a year to tend adequately to, or even keep proper tabs on, all the people who have meant something to us and all the people we have meant something to. Affection and attachment battle basic arithmetic, and arithmetic wins.”
While he does acknowledge that some friendships are better off having ended (“There are friends in our pasts who are there for obvious reasons. We disappointed or hurt them. They disappointed or hurt us. The relationship wasn’t healthy or ceased to be happy, and while that was unfortunate and perhaps painful, it was also clear. It demanded a change.”), the crux of Bruni’s article is that it’s logistics more than anything else that can render important, enriching and fulfilling friendships moot.
One of my dearest (and most-referenced in this letter) friends is Bob B. He said that if you think of someone out-of-the-blue, just call them and say hi (note: I haven’t called Bob in probably over a year). He said the conversation doesn’t have to be a 45-minute catch up. It can simply be: “I was thinking of you. It’s been too long. I just wanted to say hi and see how you’re doing.”
I remember reading something else recently that said if you’re getting a call from someone, unless you’re seriously indisposed, it’s best to pick up and say hi for ten seconds instead of screening it and then trying to figure out a time to talk. The article encouraged readers to answer the phone and say something like: “I can’t really talk right now but I wanted to hear your voice. Let’s try again soon.” Though a seconds-long talk is an ersatz form of connection than a longer, more thorough conversation, it is a way to keep the threads of a friendship tethered.
I was curious what David might say after I sent him the Rad poster. My phone showed that my iMessage had been delivered. I felt confident that it must be his same old number from over 15 years ago. Then I got a response. It was crude. I didn’t respond; it couldn’t have been him. Later I received more crass messages from his number and eventually eight calls in succession. I blocked the number. Despite the block, I somehow received an explicit photo from that number overnight. I was shocked. Who responds so feverishly to a random, non-controversial movie poster?
When blocking the number, I noticed I still have David’s email address saved. I’ve been thinking about sending the poster there and also telling him about the strange responses I got from his old number. But I still haven’t reached out. Maybe I’ll send him this letter today. It would only take about a minute.
Who in your life would you like to reach out to? How long would it take? What might arise from this connection?
Until next time,
Matt
-
matthewleebaron.com