Ghosts of the guild wood

In which our Hero gets around to mentioning a visit from an occasionally recurring character

I keep trying to explain my family, eastern families, as something closer (but saner) to something you’d see on the Tudors than you’d see on a prime-time sitcom. My parents are become elders and have been on this side of the world a long time, which means that when family visits it’s often not enough that we saw them somewhere, they have to pay their respects by visiting our house, and they can’t not visit without offending my parents. And they in their turn generally being senior to me create an obligation in their presence that requires me to break off whatever I am doing to pay my respects with my attention. Similarly, we live in a central location in the city that even though much of our family are scattered over the west side of the city and further around the golden horseshoe, we are still on the way for people who are passing through to events or going downtown, and that means that closer family frequently stop in, to visit with my folks, and again creating an obligation for me.

At least there I can be a little more anti-social, but it’s how the machine works and frankly I manage most of my obligations through deniability. Either I was never in the area, or else it was such a rushed trip that there wasn’t time to stop, but maybe next time, surely next time. Despite my efforts to hold the line, however, it’s been a brutal summer for obligatory intrusions, amidst the pressures of my various jobs, and the result has been that I’ve been more brittle than usual when faced with disruptions to my plans and schedules.

Of all the unexpected visitors, however, the strangest discovery was the phone call explaining that my ex-girlfriend Jay was going to be in town and wondered if I’d have free time to catch up. Of course she showed up in the middle of a crisis at work and when I really needed to spend time with my actual girlfriend, but it’s been so long that the “ex”ness is forgotten and what’s left is the friend I had before we were ever a couple, a friend who I hadn’t seen in a large number of years and someone who had known me from when this me was very young.

Anyway, we booked a dinner at the end of her long weekend, and of course that didn’t work out. Instead she invited me to hang out with her and another mutual friend on the Friday night, and when I explained that I couldn’t, she offered to stop by.

That’s where things went… weird. This is an old friend held in affection, but the sense of intrusion at the idea of her stopping by at some unplanned hour of the night was enough to make me feel queasy. Only some of that was because I already had plans for that evening, time carved out for my someone despite the ruinous hours of work I was behind on.

I don’t know how awkward I was in declining, but Jay adapted comfortably around it, suggesting I meet up with her the Saturday morning instead, since she wasn’t going to be able to make the dinner we’d planned to have. If that was the only time, then I figured that was the time, and we booked it.

So the Saturday morning found me sitting on my doorstep, taking in the sun and wondering just when she was going to show. And a little while later, she pulled up to the curb, and I sat down in the passenger seat of her rental and she studied me and I wondered why I barely recognized her. In retrospect, I think it’s just that her hair was short when I knew her, and it’s long now, and it changes the shape of her face in my eyes. Or maybe it’s just that having reached closure many years ago, the memories haven’t been as important.

She studied me, not saying much. She canted her head, after a while, and then finally, she said, “You’re still you.” I agreed, bemused, but she said it again, and explained that in our occasional conversations over the years, I’d made remarks about the progress of my waistline and the regress of my hairline and she’d gotten worried that I was massively different from what she remembered.

From there it was a friendly conversation, first catching up in the parking lot of the hardware store we were too early to enter and then in the plumbing aisle while we ran her errand.

That that was it, and it was fine and I was done. Except then she stopped by Monday night which again really grated on me, but now she was there and it feels wrong to tell someone I see so little and who used to be so important to sod off. It feels wrong. But we sat on the front step and talked some more.

The girlfriend was annoyed of course, because as much as I’m without unresolved issues there, it was still kind of intrusive of Jay. Or maybe just presumptive on past closeness in spite of present circumstances. For my part, as nice as it was to see her, I felt the anxiety of her intrusions into my space and the same irritation perhaps to a different degree.

People have always said I seem pretty much the same, even after gaps of years, but “middle age” is a concept that so far weighs on me as much as it empowers me; dealing with it has involved examining my definition of myself. I’m frustrated by the wear of time and ill-use on my body. I hate that my hairline moves, I hate that however small the gain I’m still fatter than I used to be, and sometimes I feel very detached from myself as a result.

Which made it an incredible comfort that she recognized me when she’s only seen me a few times in the last decades. It’s like if I’m not so changed that she can’t recognize me, then maybe I’m not quite so far from the me in my head. Maybe someone who met me today wouldn’t be so displeased with how I look in person.