Blast from the Past

I got the surprise of my life this weekend. And so before I start going on and on  about everything other than the main point to telling this tale, dear reader, remember this one thing: the lesson is on contentment.

An old childhood friend “drunk dialed” me. I hear that’s what the kids call it these days when someone calls you while in a drunken stupor. Initially, I assumed it was some sort of prank so I dismissed the poor lad the first 3 times. Then he said my name in that tone that would suggest, even when one is imbibed with something stiff enough to knock out a charging warthog, that he was in trouble.

First of all, I will need to explain that Michael is one of those guys who has it all. The looks and pheromones; the manners with just the right touch of ruggedness; the career built from his own sweat, swag and in-born hustle; the great reputation even among the little people in the region; a social life reeking of air-tight connections, enviable networks with a shot of occasional simplicity. Michael can, but doesn’t drive. May I add that my mother has been eying him for me since I was 12! Too bad I don’t like him that way. Well, not anymore.

“Michael, is everything okay?”

“We don’t talk anymore. What changed?”

“We grew up, I guess. If you need a place to crash…”

“Your mother would not approve. At least not in my state.”

I blushed, recalling that one time when I was 16 and hormonal and Michael looked a little taller, his voice a tad deeper than usual.

“Do you remember that one time on the roof…”

“I could call you a cab. Since you’re so close by anyway. Make sure you’re not robbed or anything.”

I had to interrupt. For a moment, I was more than glad that his inhibitions were significantly lowered.

 

“Or you could come get my wallet and keep it safe for me.”

“I would, but it’s kinda like 2:30 a.m.”

“Not a good idea. Hey, you sleep. We should catch up sometime.”

“Like tomorrow. Well, today. When you’re sober.”

“See you in a couple of hours.”

“Call me when you get home okay.”

“Goodnight, Pancake.”

I smiled. And I think he knew it.

“Goodnight Chocolate.”

Let’s just say that after coffee, I realized how okay my boring, ordinary life really is. Because we all have a story.

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