Looking back

I haven't been in contact with him in over 30 years. Tried locating him more than a few times. Failing in that, I assumed the worst.

I still laugh thinking of things we said and did. I also worry, remembering things we did and might have done. Ours was not a sustainable lifestyle. That road ends at the precipice, or a few thousand feet below.

Last night, I sent a message to his wife through Facebook. How I managed to find her so easily now and not before, I don't know. This morning, she replied.

They're not together anymore. Their baby is thirty something and a beautiful woman now. She is sad that they couldn't make it work. He fell on hard times after the split, but seems better now. He moved north. Married again.

We were on the same path once. He was a little older and a bit further along. The second to last time I saw him, he put a gun in my hand. A gift. It was my birthday.

I saw a demon in his eyes when he handed it to me.

I gave the pistol back to him. Then I got in my van and took a very long drive, during which I decided to take a different road entirely.

A few years later, I saw him again. Home from war. Stories about friends from our old unit who were killed there. Where he was. Where I should have been.

That experience felt like a wall between us, because I didn't bear it with him.

He was about to do something he shouldn't do, but I couldn't reach him. I didn't have the right to interfere.

Despite choosing a different road, I never forgot how to get back on our original course. It's always been just a few steps from where I am.