It was at least six years since we met in person. Less time since we zoomed. It is about 40 years since we first met. And we can sit down *in person* for a cup of coffee, as we did last week, and none of that matters. Our sentences start where we left off. They don't always finish. We live hundreds of miles away from each other, but it takes just a moment to feel at home again.
I met with my friend at St Pancras Station. About one and a half hours between trains and meetings. And all those years dissolved. She had flashbacks - Oh my god, I feel like we are sitting in Miss Selfridges having a Rombout's coffee chatting in 1984.
We used to talk about our own worries - where we would live, our studies, what we would do. We mostly talked nonsense. Making up stories about passers by, imagining the lives we glimpsed and wondering about our own. Now we talk about our worries for our children, where they will live, what studies they might do, how they will find work and passion, and happiness.
We had a cup of coffee and a glass of water. She waited for a cab with me so that we wouldn't lose a minute of catch up time. And I photographed her smiling face as she waved me off. And in just an hour and a half, I had lost a lifetime of worries, and felt known and seen and loved. I hope she felt the same. We are pals. That is a pal.
*That meeting took place last year. I found the draft this week. I couldn't find an image of Rombout's coffee cups that I liked, so I left this unfinished. We haven't met in person again, but just this week picked up our text conversation again. She is full of poetry, and the search for peace rather than happiness. She is lovely. She is still my pal.