Hello, Stephen, I said. My best friend from high school had shown up unexpectedly. He looked well, in fact not much different than I had remembered. He still had thick shoulders from weightlifting more than every once in a while, and dark, uncombed hair. And he had on that same green t-shirt the one he wore the last time we worked on our mopeds at his house. My eye caught a familiar tear on the left sleeve. This is a surprise, I said. Stephen smiled, but only slightly. Is it? Sure. A pleasant one? Yes, I said. He nodded. So how are you? I shrugged. It's been a long time, he said. True, I said, very true. How long has it been? I thought it was an odd question. Perhaps Stephen just didn't remember. Many years, I said casually, so as not to point out his apparent lapse. Too many. But he pressed me. How many? I looked at him. How many? Yeah. Are you really asking me? I am, he said. Does it matter? It does. I don't think so. Do you know? I know. And 30 something years, I said. 31, 32. Which is it? 34, I said. I guess. He half laughed. He guessed. I took in a deep breath and stared off in the distance. This isn't what I needed. Not today. Not now.