Friends Once Lost, Are Friends Again?

By Buckets Hall

Infinite apparitions from the past swarmed me, each awaking a separate, transcendent sentience.

People I saw and talked with the first week of the semester

January 5-9, 2018
Maya. A young woman from one of my mission areas. Anastasia. Childhood friend. Used to have sleepovers at her grandma's house. Alex. Ate at his apartment almost daily my freshman year. Garrett. Went to a scout camp together when we were twelve. Miraculously still looks twelve. Hayden. My mission trainer.

Actually, Hayden was the first person I saw on campus. Messy hair tousled by bitter wind. wrinkled pants clutched his slim thighs. A massive grin spilled over flushed cheeks. The needling cold numbed me, but the warm, sweet essence of our relationship pierced through the frost. 

Missionary trainers can potentially change your life, and Hayden did not waste his opportunity. As a collar-choked, nervous 18 year-old, thousands of miles and two years away from my family, Hayden closely resembled a mother hen coddling a frightened chick during a thunderstorm. He taught me what missionaries are and are not. Missionaries are instigators. They are not afraid of calling people. They are extroverts, not avoiding. Humility and Happiness 101.

That was almost three years ago. But this blustery Monday morning, I could see no difference. I bolted to him, nearly decking him off his penny board and onto the frozen ground.

In the Book of Mormon, there's a well taught story of a man named Alma who reunites with some old friends after a 14-year hiatus. He was elated, calling them "brothers in Christ." I was experiencing Alma's joy. Both of us captured the pure reunion with old friends--a holy serendipity. Alma and I shared a glance that Emmanuel Levinas describes eloquently.

"To approach the Other in conversation is to welcome his expression, in which at each instant he overflows the idea a thought would carry away from it. It is therefore to receive from the Other beyond the capacity of the I, which means exactly: to have the idea of infinity."

I was surrounded by heavenly Others. Infinite apparitions from the past swarmed me, each awaking a separate, transcendent sentience. These encounters were bronzed statues. Inexplicable. Overwhelming. Permanent. 

People I saw and avoided this last week

October 28 - November 1, 2019
Sarah. Went on some dates with her. Painful conversations. Professor Scott. Had his class a year ago. Had a question, but forgot. Some dude from World Religions, long ago. Always wears business casual. Athena. Current classmate. We walk past each other in the same corridor twice a week at 2:55. Hayden. My mission trainer.

Only 10 feet away. Same hair. And pants. His smile was exchanged for an unwelcoming grimace. Rushed steps whisked him through the courtyard. 
I cannot decide between saying hello and checking my phone. Contorted, dismantled thoughts. My jaw sags agape, waiting for a command. I eject a ramshackle "hey..." into the stony air.
He walks away, unfazed. Relief and regret, two unlikely friends, begin homemaking in the pit of my stomach.

They are everywhere. ghostly specters. I want to drop my backpack and say "CAN'T YOU SEE YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE?" As they impassively float by. Something has changed, but what exactly? My bonds to old friends and acquaintances feel more like bondage. In its twisted way, Time has spewed corroded patina onto my memories like never before. Before, they were heavenly personages. Now, these cretins silently wail their siren songs as I reel through campus, haunting me with jilted taunts. "Remember me? Do you care? Do I care?" And guilt, ever present, bruises my circumventing heels. 

I have immense difficulty feeling the joy Alma had, and Levinas embraced. I don't discover infinity in the Other's eyes now; I confront an awkward conversation. Unneeded minutes spent on conjuring emotions. Betrayal and helplessness pierce me, like a magician discovering he is a charlatan. These relationships are no longer golden shrines preserved in my memory's memorial. There is no spark of eternal light in their doleful countenances.

When did I learn of awkwardness? Perhaps seeing old friends has become a glorified name game, scraping the dregs of discarded knowledge, done solely to reinforce how small the world is. Sometimes I wonder if I have too many relationships, and now I must dispose of expired ones from the fridge. Or maybe too many of these unexpected engagements have been met by disengaged faces, too bothered to ignite old flames.

For some time I have seen my old friends disintegrate to stoic ghosts. I have grappled with the distance between I and the Other. 10 feet becomes light-years when the timing fails me. "Sorry, can't talk. I'm supposed to see you in class, not the library." "Excuse me, I'm buying cookies from the vending machine. You aren't supposed to glance over here." My life appears too burdensome for memories now. They are a hulking filing cabinet. An outdated accessory, too heavy to move. Negligence appears more comfortable.

But one moment keeps the hope for joyous reunions on life support. Five minutes which jolted everything.

People I saw and talked with while I was late to class

March 23, 2018
Ashley. Sang in a choir together. Competitive dancer. Went to the Missionary Training Center at the same time.

The somber March sun threw flecks of light from behind the cloud cover. Spindly legs launched me through the courtyard. Hopelessly tardy. Head down. Rushed steps,

"Richard!" From nowhere, a small, bundled woman blocks my path. Caked in spray tan, A bronze aura emanates from her. I can hardly recognize her. 

This is Ashley. We strike a conversation. I walk with her. She smiles. I do too. We meet up weeks later. Date. Marry. We smile some more.

A coincidental run-in with an old friend altered my life's trajectory beyond belief. Because Ashley, a friend who once sat in mundane mission classes with me, had courage which I lacked--looked up instead of down--we took cheesy couple photos together instead of seeing each other's on Facebook.

The glimmer of light we saw in each other that brisk spring morning, sometimes it is replicated in other old friends. And while I enjoy the invisible wall that separates me from them, I cannot always avoid these apparitions. They look too much like angels. 

People I saw and made myself talk with last week

October 28 - November 1, 2019
Kami. Served in the mission as me. Not Facebook friends. Devon. Worked with him as an intramural referee. Great future car salesman. Jessica. In a current class. Spent most of the time figuring out who I was. Smiled in the end. Professor Boston. Refuses to call me Buckets. Knows me as "The student not named Buckets." Hayden. My mission trainer.