Fly, you fools

This past Thursday was Thanksgiving,the holiday where we eat lots of food and show off our philosophical sides by musing aloud for the gathered company on things we're thankful for. Don't imagine that my cynicism dulls my enjoyment of this holiday. In fact, it is my favorite of them all. Because it is a National Holiday, schools from kindergarten to post-graduate take two days off. Thus I find myself this weekend with the friends I so dearly missed coming back to Washington.

For the majority of these partially-digested college friends, such is no longer the case. Perhaps it was the antagonistic room-mates. Perhaps, it was because I wasn't as good friends with them as I deluded myself. Maybe the High-School switch was permanently welded into the "off" position their first week of college. It could be all three.

Whatever the case, I found myself in the awkward position of pretending to be the person I was six months ago- the last time anyone noticed who I am.

Let me tell you, it's not pleasant. Trying to remember and approximate who one's been is a difficult task in the privacy of one's bedroom. But to pull off a perfect performance in front of those who knew one and expect one to both remain in the same static stasis and respect the new people they've become is a Herculean task.

I spent the precious time I had with these Once-Friends screaming in my mind.

People change, sweetheart. You've changed while you were at college? That's great, so have I.

I guess they just can't hear,not when it's spoken through non- telepathicmeans. Plain language, straight talking, they are senseless.

From my boat out at sea, I thought I'd seen boats coming over the horizon. Trick of the light, I suppose. Happens that way some times.

All that's left is to mourn the loss of those friends. Don't get me wrong. I discovered this weekend that they couldn't begin to scratch the surface of the plexiglass even if they tried, but this no longer bothers me. They no longer touch me, but I'm still fond of them. The same way you're fond of a particular sportsman or actor with whom you share nothing in common.

So while I mourn, it is not for what is or what could have been. I weep for what was, what has been back when I still cared.

Requiescat in pace, meae amicae.