The Vineyards

I am terrible at keeping friends. I never pick up the phone and call someone to ask how they have been. I sent Christmas cards on only one year. I remember some birthdays but only wish a happy birthday if I happen to speak to the person on the day. I have not written a personal e-mail in years, a letter in three times longer. Sometimes I even avoid said contact. As an obvious result, I have very few friends.

There are some people I know would be happy if I contacted them – or so I hope, as I would be happy if they contacted me, even if that probably would barely show under my puzzlement and social inability. I am not sure I can call them friends anymore, but they were good friends during the time we had something in common – a school, a game, a forum, another friend. I like to believe their addresses and phone numbers are all still the same (I know their e-mail addresses are not) and that I can just call them tomorrow and get together to catch up – but tomorrow, you see, they are probably at work, and I may have something to do, and what would I tell them, anyway?, nevermind, I will just do it on the weekend instead – but they are probably out, at a party or movie, I would rather not intrude. But I have their address and phone number and the firm belief these will never change, and I can always call them tomorrow.

I feel extremely bad about this.

On the other side there are those I have no way of talking to. People who drifted away before cellphones existed, when a friend’s address was something for mothers to remember because they drove us there. For some of these, I have a name and last name, which is enough to find them online nowadays. I found a few of those, poked around their information, and left in silence; some people have done the same with my name, a few contacted me, and it did not lead too far. These people were mainly classmates from over ten years ago. I did share some interests with them, but the only thing keeping us together was the school we attended daily. Without that, we went our separate ways, with different high schools, interests, hobbies, views. “Hi, remember me? We studied together when we were ten!” That is that, we had nothing else in common to talk about. I have some fond memories of these people in the school playground or in the street where we used to play, but just as it is rather troubling to see the school is no longer there, the street is all different and now has heavy traffic, it is troubling to see that kid I played with is now nothing of what my memory shows. It is a stranger with the same name as a kid I once knew. I probably am that stranger to many people. It hurts me that I am.

For better or worse, there are also those friends whose names I do not remember, and have no way of knowing. I remember them – I miss them, even (but I know I miss the entire setting, as they are obviously different now) -, and this is very good. I love having characters in my life story who left a mark strong enough that it is still visible today and who will never reappear as a different person to taint that mark.

My two longest standing friends date from roughly the same twelve or thirteen years ago. We changed quite a lot in these years, spent many periods with little or no contact, but they are not complete strangers wearing names I was familiar with: they are people I would be friends with if I met them today for the first time. They are like those first people I mentioned, those “I may call tomorrow”, but these I already called yesterday (honestly, though, they called me; I am grateful). One of them studied in the same class as me for a year and was here a few days ago; the other, I never even heard his voice, and probably would not recognize him if we walked past each other on the street.

As I conclude that last paragraph, I realize everything above it is just walking in circles and actually taking me away from the main point, but it serves as illustration of what can happen and has happened, in general.

In essence, then, Will, yes, I really think so.