Finally, a couple of months later I make the call. Kevin, who'd tracked me down on Facebook, an old, old friend from back in the day.
40 years ago, to be precise. He'd contacted me, curious as to what's become of me.
And I'd - not avoided, but - well, being half sober that late at night is not my strong point.
Kevin, he was a fellow busboy when I was 17 in University, he moved on to bar, I just moved on to a different restaurant. Earl's, the first one ever, on the Calgary Trail in Edmonton.
We hung out, a little, like co-workers do. My memories of him, primarily the time when he tried to introduce me to smoking pot, only he went to meet his dealer and they were out of pot so he took a bunch of magic mushrooms instead.
I'd never tried these either, and so we sat up late into the night eating a bag of mushrooms. To what we thought was no effect, laughing, laughing louder at how were swindled out of our last 20$ for what were basically placebos, laughing, seeing him off, out the front door...
And for the next 3 days whenever I shut my eyes I'd be assailed by the muppets from hell, like that scene from "Labyrinth" wherein the muppets are waiting for the girl to complete the spell for the goblin king...
Then, another time, drunk and driving my old Ford Granada - purchased from "Rent a Wreck" and my mother would often joke "Bought a Wreck" which was funny because it was true, but being young I often acted under the bad advice of my father...
I knew nothing about cars. Apparently he didn't either, but that's another story.
So we somehow conceived the idea of visiting West Edmonton Mall, portions of which were still under construction, and poorly flagged, so we drove to the bottom of what would later be the lake - middle of the night, getting out to look around, Kevin taking a leak on what would become the underwater aquarium, and then getting busted by security, one of whom I knew from University, we shared a computing science class, "Mr. C" he called me for my false bravado walking into exams I wasn't even slightly prepared for...
And so we were given the tour and then urged politely to leave the property...
Light, considering, but that was the era, no need to police every little infraction and indiscretion of youth.
***
We catch up, an hour maybe on the phone, half-litre of Vodka, his life, mine, he seems to think I'm living the life.
I suppose, after a fashion, there's no reason I shouldn't be...
His own, filled with middle-aged regrets, nothing having worked out as planned, but - as often the case, there wasn't a plan, none, at least, that was explicitly stated and so all the fallen-throughs and disappointments, they're a bit crushing.
And his, well, I'm suspicious of this, my own death-bed dreams, are these people calling to catch up, say hello, goodbye, farewell, is it them that's leaving or me?