blast from the past

Betsy and I met by the staircase, but recognized one another anyway.

 Celia, a mutual childhood friend 

Conflating fifty years and two lives into an hour or two is quite a triumph. Betsy (above) and I had last seen one another at Briarcliff High. And even then, she was in a lower grade than me and friends with my friends' younger siblings. Then came Facebook, and unexpected contact through mutual childhood friends like Celia (left).  Betsy and I both live on the Upper White Side of Manhattan, are both writers, both 66. And there's a lot of damn water under the bridge. We waded into it. She told me that she was into a high school do-over—she had not been connecting with people in the same way then. Probably too self conscious, like most of us when we were very young. We looked around Fairway's cafe and everyone there was of a certain age. But we didn't see one another as geezers. Forever young.