Episode 31: Reunion

This is a crossover episode with The Stick, a memoir blog written by Frank Walter. To learn more about Ian and the start of his visit to Neighborful Station, read the post Old Friends. ☺️

You are walking up to Johann’s Pizza on a brisk December afternoon, to pick up the takeout pizza you ordered on a lark a few minutes ago. Stray snowflakes flutter down from the overcast sky above, and you smell the possibility of more snow on the west wind. A pair of trams pass you and each other on Stevens Lane, tracing their steady circles around the edge of town. As you feel your nose and cheeks reddening in the winter chill, you take a crisp breath.

The heat lamps are on beneath the awning at Johann’s, but only two patrons are brave enough to endure the cold. You see Larry, Mason’s Dad, sitting with another man his age, whom you do not recognize. Larry looks up, waves at you, and says, “Hello, You! Will you come sit with us a minute? I’d like you to meet someone.”

You say, “Yes, absolutely. My pizza is probably still baking anyway.”

The other man stands up as you approach and says, “I’m Ian. Here from Virginia for a visit. Nice to meet you.” He offers you his hand.

You shake his hand and say, “Good to meet you. What brings you here today?”

The two of you sit down, Ian settling onto his picnic bench across from you and Larry. He sighs and says, “Larry and I went to high school together. Lost touch for quite a long time, and then, come to find out, we’d both been in the Navy all those years.”

Larry adds, “Which is a very strange place for two theater kids to find themselves.”

Ian grunts and continues, “We never came across each other, even though we’re both nuclear engineers. He was East Coast, I was West Coast. I was a surface guy, he was in subs.”

Larry leans over toward you and says, “One ping only, please.”

Ian’s eyebrows lift at this, but his face remains otherwise unreadable. He says, “We both got out a couple years ago. Found each other again online.”

You nod slowly and say, “Well, I’m glad you’ve been able to reconnect.”

Larry tells you, “Ian is a little… skeptical about our town.”

Ian scoffs and looks away, smiling ruefully, as he shoots back, “That’s not what I said.”

Larry rests his chin on his hands, with his arms propped up on the table in front of his plate, and asks, “Well, what did you say?”

Ian folds his arms across his chest, still looking away. He says, “I’ve never really had a community like this outside the service. Community is just baked in when you’re on active duty, but here? I don’t know. It all seems too good to be true.”

At this, a moment of quiet settles over the picnic table. You look up at the heat lamps overhead, glowing and offering their warmth to the three of you. You smell the garlic butter of the leftover breadsticks sitting in front of you, and you reach for one of them, dipping it in the cup of marinara sauce. As you taste the best of last summer’s tomatoes, you hear the clock at town hall announce the hour, and you take a centering breath.

Ian breaks the silence by asking you, “How long have you lived here?”

You tell him, “Less than a year.”

He asks, “Did you have family or friends here when you moved?”

You say, “I didn’t know anyone at all.”

Ian re-crosses his arms over his chest, demanding of you, “And would you say you have friends now?”

You smile and tell him, “Yes, I really do. Larry, for one - he sends me the playlist each month for Concert Club. Larry and Mason also took me river tubing in the summer. Fritz and Anna drove us, and Fritz gave me a pizza oven that’s in my backyard. Grace and Matthew across the street from me have their baked potato buffet every Saturday night. I help out with the Puzzle Exchange, and I’m on the Festival Committee. I’ll be working on the Parade of Lights next weekend. I have more friends here than I’ve ever had in my life, actually.”

Ian considers this, and says after a moment, “That’s the part I don’t fully understand. All this activation energy. Where do y’all get it from?”

Larry says, “We get it from giving it. That’s how community works.”

Ian’s eyes cloud as he says, quietly, “Well, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Larry leans back on the bench, stretching his arms and yawning, as he looks up at the canvas roof. Then he snaps a finger and says, “The parade float.”

Ian’s eyebrows head north again, as he responds, “What of it?”

Turning to you, Larry says, “Right after we graduated from high school, this guy gets the idea that we should have a float in the 4th of July parade in town. Mind you, we have no official organization, no paperwork, no nothing. And it’s, like, a week before the parade.”

Ian smiles, genuinely, at the memory. He adds, “We stole my uncle’s cargo trailer and put a hitch on your Mom’s tiny little Mazda. A whole lotta plywood and tissue paper disappeared from people’s houses that week.”

Larry says, laughing, “What were we, mermaids?”

Ian corrects him with a stern face, “Mer-people, Lar. Mer-people. Thank God we didn’t have cell phone cameras in those days.”

Larry thumps the table, tears in his eyes from his laughter, and says, “We had, what, 60 of us marching alongside the float?”

Ian confirms, “At least 60 hairy mer-people, under the sea, yeah.”

As the two of them laugh and laugh, lost in their nostalgia, you rest your arms on the picnic table, feeling its roughly worn surface beneath the palms of your hands. You let their joy wash over you as you take an easy breath. 

The two middle-aged Dads catch their own breath, and Ian ventures, “Well, I’m a little past my parade float years, but maybe I’ve still got something in the tank.”

Larry replies, ”I assure you, Ian, you do. I’m just saying you should try. You have a lot more to offer than you’re giving yourself credit for. None of us are meant to be alone.” Turning once again toward you, Larry asks, “Isn’t that right?”

You say, “Yes, that’s exactly right.”