What friends are really for
“I’m worried,” I said.
My friend lifted his head from the newspaper he was reading, then turned the paper over and looked at the front page.
“What? This? That’s got nothing to do with … ” he started.
“Not that,” I said. “You know how you always get junk mail from insurance companies and car dealerships and furniture places?” I asked. “You know what I mean. It’s that stuff we always throw away.”
He nodded.
“You’re afraid we’re going to run out of trees, aren’t you?” he asked. “A lot of that stuff is just recycled, recycled paper times 50. There are plenty of … ” he started.
I cut him off with a wave of my hand.
“It’s not that,” I said. “I can’t really explain it. It’s just … ”
Nothing was said for a while,
My friend went back to his newspaper, making comments now and then on a story he was reading.
“You read about this family in Minnesota?”
Or: “What’s wrong with people? Did you see this?”
I either nodded or made some kind of smart remark.
It was our annual semi-monthly, whenever we can get together, but not so much lately because of COVID, breakfast.
We’ll catch up on life, eat, read the paper, talk, maybe have too much coffee, then promise to get together more often even though we know that’s not going to happen.
But he’s been through some of the same battles I have, some of the same experiences, and he’s probably the closest thing I have to a friend.
Or at least the closest thing I have to a person who has been through the same battles, had some of the same experiences.
And we both have a strong disdain for anything “popular.”
I guess we’re just old school.
Speaking of which.
“OK, so you know all that junk mail that goes straight to the trash, right?” I asked.
He sorta nodded/shrugged.
I don’t think junk mail is something we’ve ever discussed in depth. I mean, it’s not a subject a couple of friends who see each other every other full moon and red tide event start conversing about.
“Long time, no see … What kind of junk mail you get lately?”
You get the drift.
“I started reading some of it,” I admitted.
He put the newspaper down and leaned forward. “You didn’t vote for … ” he started.
“No, no, nothing like that. Political mail was the first thing to get tossed,” I assured him.
“I’ve been getting flyers and stuff from AARP,” I admitted.
He chuckled.
“Hey, everybody gets those,” he said.
“Yeah, I know,” I said, “But I’ve been reading them. I’m thinking about joining.”
Strangeness comes in many shapes and sizes and it sneaks up on you like a bad rash in the summer. One second you’re all fine and dandy, and the next you’re rubbing your back against a tree like a badger because you can’t reach the itch.
“What? C’mon. Seriously?” he said. “You’re … How old?” he asked.
I told him I’m the same age as he is.
“And you’re … ?” I asked.
He thought a minute. I could actually see him counting his fingers and toes in his head.
“Yeah, but … I mean, it’s not like I’m really … No way, I don’t think I’m that … ”
I nodded.
“Yes way. We are. May not feel like it, think like it, act like it. We may not do some of the same stupid stuff we did 40 years ago, but, yeah,” I said.
He just looked at me.
I think the “age is just a number” thing finally became a just what it is — a cliche.
“Wow,” he finally said.
“You didn’t throw all that AARP stuff away did you?” he asked. “Maybe I should look at it.”
We both sighed.
Just two old friends catching up and realizing, maybe, that we really are “old” friends.