Heavy Boots

The air is crisp, a light wind passes, yet this heaviness separates you from me.

It is as if we are cramming the entirety of two years in the blink of an eye. I had so much to say, and expected so much to hear from you. In my mind our meeting would be less talking and more spilling. Maybe an overflowing of the things that we abruptly stopped sharing after a while.

The silence isn't as comfortable as it used to be. Before, a sigh would suffice to vault us into completely different fits of musings, giggles, or maybe even both. This time the silence lingers. It's like both of us are waiting for the other to break it. It's like we're waiting for something from yesterday to whisk us away from the reality of the now.

You speak to me of your dreams, your gripes, your vulnerabilities, and your loneliness. For a moment I am lost. To be frank, I had forgotten what it was like to be a friend to you. For you to so eagerly spill reminds me of my role, and how I had abandoned it. To me, there is no point of return. I'm terribly sorry.

Intermixed with conversations about the future, you take us back to the past. You speak so fondly of a different me who lived in a time and space where it was okay to call things retarded and gay, where ethnic studies was a joke, where we thought we were better than everyone else, and where reputation and grades meant everything.

My skin crawls when you describe something as "retarded," but I hold my tongue. Why is it that this happens to me so often?

To reciprocate, I speak to you of my own plans. Asian Am. SF State. Ethnic Studies. (You even ask me if I'm involved with Pillipinos still. Why are you chuckling?) I am everything I was not when you knew me. I am what we made fun of. I am what we thought was immature and unimportant.

You, you're still the same. The same passions and dreams, the same competitive drive, the same vulnerability, the same loneliness. You haven't changed a bit. I recognize you, as if from a former life.

We grow silent again, and as soon as our meeting has started it's over. We hug goodbye, and I wonder if it's heartfelt, the "Keep in touch" that I hear myself utter. For the hour that we sat so close, I don't think I've ever felt so far from you.