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Who remembers, she said, you do, don't you -- that guy in the neighborhood we all thought looked like a movie star?
I don't know, he said.
Sure, you remember.
Maybe, kind of. It seems sort of familiar.
He did not know what she was talking about, going back 20 years. Who remembered anything after 20 years?
Though she remembered him.
He her.
But he was not here to see her. Or to talk to her. He did not object to talking to her, but he did not want to talk to her about this -- whoever -- whoever this guy was.
He was not asking her anything.
He was here to run into Williams. 20 years ago, 20 years ago and 20 more, he and Williams had been great friends. Kept in touch, too, until five or so years ago. Something happened to Williams then -- breakdown, disease -- whatever crisis -- whatever those things that happen. So Williams would rant to him and the rants became increasingly broken. They lived a thousand miles apart.
After awhile, he stopped picking up.
After he had done enough, heard enough, listened enough, consoled enough.
Honored the friendship but beyond the point there was nothing he could do, nothing that would help, no obligation.
Nothing.
She asked if he was staying at the hotel.
He said he was not although he was.
He had enough to do without complications.
Could not talk about what had or had not been between them.
Visit that archeology of misunderstanding and bad feeling.
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