Short Story - Reunion

She chose the table by the coffee shop’s front window, small square panes now tinted pink with the soft mauve of morning light. Though the air was filled with the sumptuous aroma of the day’s first fresh pot of coffee, it was not the hour she’d have chosen for this meeting with the past, but he had mentioned a plane to catch later in the day, so morning was best. Stranger still was her agreeing to this meeting. Hadn’t she been the one who’d said reunions of any sort, “No never?” Truth be told, she had said, “Never, ever.”

“Let’s face it,” she confided to a friend at work the day his letter came, “if you walked off from someone without a backward glance all those years ago and had no contact since that moment, why would you imagine either of you well served by meeting now?” But strangely, here she sat waiting on a classmate of some thirty-five years prior. Not just any classmate either, but her mind still wanted to argue. This was stupid. This is insane. What am I doing here? She started to push her chair back and gather her purse and book. She’d write a note and leave it with the young man making the coffee. She quickly scouted through her pockets for a pen that would write on a napkin. When that failed, she began rooting through the dark inner reaches of her purse, focused so intently that she didn’t notice him enter the shop and canvass the room.

When he spotted her, and noted her frantic search, he stopped and leaned against the door jamb, arms folded, one foot casually in front of the other. The corners of his eyes crinkled as his smile deepened. His body rocked slightly in time with his soundless chuckle. He knew her well.

She paused, raising her head to search for a barista. Her scan of the room flashed across him and slammed to a stop five feet further on. Slowly her eyes slid back along that path until they locked on his. His knowing smile unnerved her, but his perennial magnetism held her fast. She hadn’t known what to expect, this being her first encounter with meeting an older version of someone from her youth. But as usual, he didn’t follow the norm. Certainly, he should look older than that, she thought. Age hasn’t spared me. Her mind was spinning. Old antagonisms, like bees from a threatened hive, left their stinging memories.

Just when she was about to call it off, he mouthed the words which always stymied her retreat: “You can’t run. You can’t hide.” Considering for a moment, she sighed, laid her book and fountain pen down and leaned back in her chair. Pushing off the door frame, he walked slowly toward her table, so like their first encounter.

Her sophomore year; here it was again. How had this happened? That was the year they’d met, and this was the manner. Absorbed in her studies, her career beckoning, she rarely dated. But she had to eat, and ironically, they met in the cafeteria, two strangers sharing a table. She left her meal untouched that evening. He was brilliant, complex, recondite at times. Supper became their daily date. Long past dessert, they’d be dissecting some impenetrable idea, pulling this way and that. She’d walk back to the dorm from those trysts lost in wonder. Even so, a tiny jot of doubt coming from who-knows-where, hit fertile ground and flourished. Was she intelligent enough, bold enough to partner such a man? He seemed always so many steps ahead of her….

He sat across from her now and said nothing. His comfort with silence had always unsettled her. Unable to contain her ill-ease, she all but blurted out, “Why did you want to meet me now?” She immediately shrank back, embarrassed by her sudden return to the lack of candor that so often defined her youth.

He smiled at the recollection, “Who wouldn't want to see you again?”

“You of all people; I would have thought. And why now?” She stared at her age-spotted hands and tried not to reflect on her sixty’s-something face.

“You’ve always attracted me,” he answered. “Back then you were a stunner. No question about that. But as you knew, I had my choice of many beauties of the day. Your attractiveness, your real attractiveness for me was something far deeper than your appearance.”

Her brow furrowed. She searched her mind for what might account for what he said. She didn’t want to recall that history, one littered with youthful misperception that cast her as insensitive, blunt and conceited by her so-called friends. Besides, it all seemed moot now, except for his last comment.

What inner attractiveness?” she flung back at him. “All I ever remember being described as was tactless and inconsiderate.”

“That’s not surprising. You couldn’t grasp why people wouldn’t just tell the truth. It was frustrating to you. No matter how badly they treated you, however, you refused to play their games. That was one of the things that fascinated me about you. It was most attractive.”

“Is that what you meant every time you told me, ‘You can’t run. You can’t hide?’ Obviously at some point, I did run. I apparently just didn’t hide very well. Hell, I changed countries and live in this huge city. How did you find me?”

“My work makes me good at that, finding people.”

“Sounds like I shouldn’t ask you what your work is.” She smiled for the first time and chuckled quietly. “So that was it. That I tell the truth?”

He sat silent, unreadable, still staring at her. “Don’t ever underestimate what an astounding choice that is,” he said. “In a world of endless gamesmanship, someone who resists capitulating to such social mores is someone worth knowing. That’s the truth.”

That statement roused her curiosity. Maybe those times weren’t exactly as she remembered. “I never could figure you out back then. You allowed me to be more myself than anyone I knew. I do remember that. But there was always something between us, like a wall I couldn’t penetrate, or rather you didn’t want penetrated.”

“Neither is true. You just didn’t know what you were dealing with, and thus how to interact with me.”

“So, what is true?”

“We all have scars from our past. As children, we can’t pick our parents and the matches appear quite serendipitous. If we get parents who are immature and underdeveloped, there is much less tolerance for offspring with different sensitivities. It isn’t that they don’t want to be good parents. It’s just that they don’t have the know-how to understand the creature they begat. Most offspring cease resisting and eventually buy in. Thus, the monotonous continuity of human beings. That you didn’t succumb made you most attractive to me. And that wall… supposed wall, you felt; that was what you put up. You were so used to being challenged that when that didn’t happen with me, ironically it frightened you. You thought it was a trick.” He smiled, shaking his head.

“But those things that drew me to you then,” he continued, “they don’t change with age, just sink in deeper where they are harder to access. They can be re-engaged, however. Sometimes it’s worth attempting that.”

“And you think that could happen for me. Why would I care now? What seems more top-of -mind these days are stodgy sentiments associated with security, health, financing my old age. They’ve assumed growing significance for me this last decade. Sounds like it’s too late, like I finally bought in.”

As those words left her mouth, she felt panicky. Unnerved, she changed the topic attempting to get back to the sorts of things people discuss at reunions, or at least she thought, since she’d never been to one. “What have you been doing over the years?”

He looked at her, his eyes laughing now as he watched her erect the proverbial wall she accused him of. “Traveling, learning, meeting interesting people.”

As he matched her lessened fervor, she recalled how she’d thrived on his intensity. Her heart thudded in her chest. Fear that she had succumbed, had taken the safer road rather than the right one, increased its pounding. Had she?

 “How badly do you want an answer to that question?” he said as if mind reading.

“How do you know what…?”

“I don’t read minds. I do, however, know you in spades.”

She had been leaning forward on the table, focused on his every word. Her breath now slowed, and she dropped her shoulders, sighing as her body relaxed. She leaned back in her chair. “Tell me first why you’ve contacted me? Why did you want to see me now? Straight up.”

He followed her lead and made himself comfortable, leaning back as well, stretching his legs off to one side and lacing his fingers behind his head. His focus keen, his stare unblinking, he answered. “I’ve searched all my life for someone who might be able to run with me.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Just hush,” he said softly. “You asked. Now give me time to answer. I’ve always been different. When I looked out on life, I obviously didn’t see what others saw. I don’t mean I saw fantasy worlds or golden glitter in the air. The difference was my not being consumed by the wants and needs I felt around me. Instead the so-called imponderables were what constantly snagged my attention, shaped my life. I had sensed this focus early on but had no notion of what to do with it. So, I played along for a while—the parties, the escapism, the endless reflections on stories about life rather than life itself. It wasn’t until my circumstances dumped me off in the Far East that I encountered a perspective which approved and underpinned the investigation of imponderables, encouraged it even. I found people who didn’t play games, and who could explain to me why and how.”

“I would have thought I was one of the game players.” She butted in. “You already pointed out I was the wall builder.”

“Yes, you were, but that was your way to keep the games at bay. It was a crude fix, but it kept you on the so-called right side of the truth.

“And that means…?”

“For whatever reason, you too saw the lie as a lie and the truth as the truth. I’m not talking about simple honesty. I’m talking about the way the world is as opposed to how most everyone sees it.”

She could barely follow him with her intellect, but her heart began to ache with such ferocity she inadvertently put a hand over that place on her chest and rubbed in a circle as if to ease it in some way. Suddenly it all came together. Wincing with the pain in her chest, she whispered, “I remember now.” She raised her head, her eyes searching him. “You used to talk about such strange, esoteric ideas.” Her voice was choked up from the pain. “They enchanted and frightened me at the same time. You quoted people I’d never heard of who said things I could barely wrap my mind around. I let myself think I was dumb, unable to keep up and yet, I never could ignore the draw I felt toward those amazing possibilities you spoke of. But it was the ‘60s for Pete’s sake.” Tears, unchecked, now slid slowly down her face, already contorted with the pain she was experiencing. “We women were supposedly on our way up. I feared I’d only ever be the wake behind you ship of sail, and…” she groaned… “I remember now.” She nodded slowly as she sucked air through her teeth. “God, I remember. I didn’t want to feel like second best, live in your shadow. I wanted my own corner under the lamp post.” She raised her eyes and stared into his. The memories were flooding in now. What it felt like to be with him. How, after any time spent with him, she had to practically beat herself back to her work, to her studies, to accomplishments, to degrees and fulfillment of what she thought were her dreams. Only they weren't her dreams.

He took her hand. “Let yourself relax and the pain will ease up. You’re fine. Your body just wanted to make a point, knowing how stubborn you are.” He smiled at the memory of her standing her ground.

“I did get lost. My first clue should have been hearing myself justifying my choices.” She winced. “Who justifies anything but someone trying to convince themselves?” Her body softened as the pain lifted leaving her quiet and pensive. “Now… tell me why you’re here.” They released hands, and he leaned back. She folded hers on the table and waited.

“I don’t need anyone to complete my life in the normal manner we understand relationship. But years ago, I became conscious of what could be possible between two people of sufficient sentience. For me, it moved love out of such categories as an art, a state, an experience, a relationship, or a phenomenon. What could be known, though seeming obscure and unreachable, was love of a nature few people encounter. In our innermost reveries, we can sometimes sense it - a haunting aura of a magnificent completeness. That’s what I wanted to share with you years ago.

She sat reeling, staring at the large wall clock as it ticked off more seconds of her life. Measured against his vision, the mundanity of her life exposed itself like the old whore it was, prostituting an authentic life for secure one. And worse, all her life had amounted to could be expunged in 30 minutes or less with a few directed notes and one month’s rent. But still, she was old. It seemed insane to consider such a bold course.

Both retreated into silence. She broke it. “You can’t be serious. I’m not that person.”

“Are you so sure? His stare had the effect of a knife-edge slicing through her disbelief. Have you looked, or are you willing to let old habits of mind own you yet, without the slightest investigation? Do you think for one second that I would be here if I had any doubts? Would waste my time and stir up your hurtful memories for some youthful pretension? Certainly, what I’m saying could sound strange and be mistaken for an old man’s hokey fantasy, but I guarantee you, it…is…not.”

He sat attentive and still, recalling how months earlier, the universe, in some inexorable undertaking, had shaken him from his orderly life when, in conversation with an old friend, her name came up. It sent a shiver through him. How had he allowed such a lie to linger in his life; that he could live out his days without seeing her once again? The day she walked away had devastated him, for he had been sure she was the one. But his years of maturation let him now see that something profound yet mysterious had set up this moment long ago. It was his to finally bring it home.

She focused on the table top as if the answers she needed were scratched in its lacquered surface. When she raised her head, her earnestness caused her to bang out her words. “Then this is a one-way ticket to what I turned my back on long ago, provided I have what it takes?” He needn’t answer, for as she raised her eyes to his, she felt how suddenly accessible he had become, how open, a spaciousness for which she had no words, as if an enormous door had swung wide and free, entreating her entry. In that moment, she recalled what truth felt like. How it leaves no doubts.

Finger-by-finger, she unfolded the fist her hand had become, turned it palm up and reached toward him. He had been leaning on his elbows with his hands balled up under his chin, staring at her as she worked her way to her decision. As her hand moved toward him, he unwrapped his fingers, leaned back again, then slid one hand beneath hers and one on top. His eyes intense and focused on her raptor-like, held her stare, as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers with great tenderness.

Early that evening, their plane left Sea Island from the Vancouver Airport. The crazy group of plane watchers, who daily came to view the planes take off and land right over their heads, saw it lift into the sky. Then it began a lazy circle back around to the west, out over the Pacific, toward the Far East, the reunion truth arranged.

“…Intangible, formless!

At its center appears the Image.

Formless, intangible!

At its center appears Natural Law.

Obscure, mysterious!

At its center appears the Life Force.

The Life Force is very real;

At its center appears truth.”¹

            ¹ Wing, R.L. (1986) The tao of power. New York, New York: Doubleday

Christina Carson, Writer