The Next Time She Saw Him

The next time she saw him it was by chance and after many years. They ran into each other on the street or something, and, at first, she wasn’t able to recognize him. They laughed about the weirdness of it and went out for coffee in order to catch up on the many things they had missed of each other’s lives. As they talked about different subjects and carefully avoided a few, she realized, yes, how drastic his change had been. He had spent all these years covering himself with layers and layers of… stuff. He had traveled, he had gone to college, he had loved... Or so he claimed. He had been there, he had done that and, oh, had he done that. She accepted his way of overstating things with a mix of sadness and repulsion as she nodded and sipped from her cup and thought to herself: “So different yet so much of the same.” Quite funny. During the whole conversation, he built himself in front of her like a house of cards, trying so desperately to reach high and prove a point that she didn’t have the heart to blow on him. And all it would had taken was a little snuff, but she did not do it. It wasn’t her stunt. Not anymore. So much useless and pointless work in his performance made her feel sorry. “Maybe I should go by the way he wants me to see him,” she thought, “and maybe I should accept the image he is striving so hard to convey.” And after yet another sip of coffee, she whispered: “You look so happy”. “I am”, he replied in a loud voice and dodged her gaze. In the end, they said goodbye as old tired friends, and exchanged cellphone numbers and email addresses that would end up thrown away in some paper basket. There was also the hesitation of a hug.
“I’ll send you a postcard for Christmas, Mom”, he said as he waived goodbye. He wanted to cry so bad.