the light of day

I saw him at least half a block before he saw me, I think, and it was odd, to see him, striding on the sidewalk, his work shirt slung over his shoulder, his soccer feet kicking out. He has a little swagger I never noticed before and it made me smile.

When I realized it was him, my feet stopped moving for a second. I resumed my walk and frantically decided (my brain began to go into instant and excessive thinking mode) there was no way to avoid him, so I might as well say hello and be pleasant.

I said hello first and to be honest, his haziness made me wonder if he would have just walked right past me. He seemed out of it, tired, a worn out shell of the man I know. Talking to me was laborious and he was being careful again, because he's worried about me again.

So we tried to mutter out sentences and meanings, phrases and words, he mentioned something I was surprised he still recalled so easily, and it pushed the words into my throat and then I let them bubble up, I don't know why I said those two words, they were unnecessary, but I wanted to see if he remembered that too, so I said them.

His eyes narrowed in recognition of the the day it all started, with those words, that invitation. And then he panicked, and I could see his brain flustering and floundering behind his blue blue blue in the daylight eyes (made bluer by the t-shirt he wore) and his mouth jabbered something and his face looked so old and wrinkled and stubbly and worn out.

So I let him go, with words of parting and the relief in his face was like a present to me and I walked away.

Even though I have been avoiding him the world conspires to have us meet in the street like two strangers. When will it be enough to have us never meet again?