Echoes

The restaurant is not crowded. Somehow our table gets assigned two waitstaff, such that every twenty minutes or so, we are attended to twice. “How is everything tasting?” a young server brightly inquires. “Good,” we say. ” Thanks.” Then ten seconds later, not to be outdone by her predecessor, an industrious, older woman inserts herself: “And how is everything tasting?” We, holding our hands up to our mouths to hide our chewing, respond: “Good. Still good.”

In between cocktail sips and pasta fork twirls, under the dim glow of hotel restaurant lights, I feel the wires of the T.A.R.D.I.S. resting in our hands. We have known one another for decades, but we don’t stay in close contact. There is no expectation to text, to call, to gather. But every once in awhile — sometimes after a few months, other times after a few years — we stumble into reconnecting over a meal. This time it’s been several months.

“Is everything okay here?” “Yes, we’re good.”

“How is everything?” “Good. Very good.”

We readily slip into familiar conversation patterns, effortlessly moving beyond factual reporting to pondering the hard questions about the things that truly matter. After the usual fare of love, death, and God, the conversation bends its way into deeper territory, how our previous chapters are filled with the very good stuff, and some very bad stuff too. We advocate for our respective approaches to aligning our past selves with the present. (I covet all of my journals, delight in old photo albums, and bemoan what I’ve lost in my floods; he giddily shares that he has burned every letter.) We celebrate the gift of the bridge that we have managed to build, to keep from falling into the torrential seas below.

“Can I get you two anything else?” “No, I think we are ready for the check.” Server #2 catches the eye of Server #1 and leaves our table alone this time.

We run out of time, with still so many stories to share, so much about life to figure out. We drop a few cliffhanger bombs and promise to share more details next time. We commit to doing this again sooner rather than later. No specific plans are made, but we don’t need to resort to such trivialities.

We’re good. We’re still very good.