Tom

I saw Tom the other night for the first time since the mid-90s. He was in SF for a few days by himself, staying with a friend who happens to be married to one of my coworkers. I don't know why he decided to contact me -- I'm sure he's been in SF many times over the past fifteen years. But I was glad to see him, looking almost exactly the same as he used to look (a bit less hair, maybe).

We met outside the building, in the dark. He had not been confident that he would be able to find it but he did fine. We decided to go to my house, get my car, and have a drink in the Mission/Bernal, because I was going to Nanci's for dinner and he was going to end up at his friend's place in Bernal. So he saw my little house and then he sat in my car.

I felt old and young at the same time -- looking at him, listening to the cadences of his speech, so familiar from a long time ago. Realizing that I don't know anything about his life, and sensing sometimes that he had gone blank, disappeared for a moment behind some kind of barrier. I still feel for him, but my feelings are nowhere near urgent. I can't tell how he's doing, really. I can't even tell how I'm doing.