The next story happened a few years ago. Enter our main guy, a man in his fifties. Back in his day, you had to join the army as an adult male, all part of your civic duties, you know. After serving his country, he found a new job, got married and found a place to live. Life got busy, as you can imagine, starting a new family.
Then one day, he stumbled upon on old army comrade on social media. He became quite enthusiastic, telling me about his old friend, about the pranks they used to pull, the music they used to listen to, their mutual interest in sports, and so on. He heaped tons of praise onto him, and he genuinely seemed happy to meet his old friend once again. If you’d know this man, you’d definitely be surprised, as he typically doesn’t hand out praise very often , and he tends to be much more reserved when it comes to friends.
Some time passed, and they finally met up. They drank some coffee, had a few biscuits, and shared a handful of old stories. The room was filled with nostalgia and both them enjoyed hanging out together. Upon leaving, both of them decided to meet up again later – which they did. But after half a dozen times, they ran out of old stories to tell each other. Slowly, the fog started clearing up. The man realised he wasn’t talking to the same, carefree, progressive-minded army comrade, from back in the day. In front of him, stood a much more conservative, much older man, someone with whom he differed slightly too much.
As best as I can tell, he never put a stop to the friendship officially, but he didn’t have to. It was like an old chunk of coal catching fire, only for it to die out soon after. Both went their seperate ways again.
Recently something similar happened to me. Well, it wasn’t quite the same, we didn’t run out of stories just yet. Let’s just say that I received a digital signal, unmasking his true feelings, pretty much saying, “Not interested.” It felt disappointing, to see the mask fall off. I’ll admit I wavered for a moment, wanting to throw it back in his face. I decided it was best to just move on. If this had happened ten-fifteen years ago, I wouldn’t have been as gentle, and I might have burned some bridges, let me tell you.
See, my old history teacher explained it best. As long as we went to school, and had a common enemy in front of us, we’d remain real good friends. But as soon as the common enemy disappeared, many friendships would vaporise into thin air. She was right, it turns out. Because when it came down to it, what did these classmates have in common? Not much. Just two kids, who happened to be bored out of their minds during breaks, talking to each other to pass the time.
So, I’ll keep doing what I’m doing. Because while everyone looks upon you as some type of static object, I’ve learned it’s possible to change, to grow, to make moves. Meanwhile I’ll keep my cards close to my chest. If after some years, some old friend decides he wants to meet up again, then I’ll play my hand – not sooner.
Yours truly
Vincent J. Dancet