As it turns out socializing with the staff is not so bad. I end up speaking for about half an hour to a couple of the developer guys who report directly to me before briefly speaking to a lady in the HR team.
But there is still a sense of relief when I finally feel I can drag Blake away with some weak excuse of business talk.
As we weave through the crowd on our way back to the bar, he says, “Good to see you chatting with the staff. It almost looked like you enjoyed it. You know we're lucky to have good people working for us, and it’s important to spend time away from the office getting to know them.”
“Yeah, I know. Enough with the lecture.” Then, because I know he is right and it pisses me off, I have a dig back at him, “You certainly seemed keen to get to know Bec.”
It’s a lame old joke to point out his close friendship with Bec, but he never seems to find it as funny.
“As I've told you many times before, Bec and I are good friends so quit it with the insinuations,” he growls back at me.
I drop my head down to hide my amusement at getting under his skin.
We order another round of beers then settle on a couple of stools to the side of the bar.
“Come on then, cough it up. What crawled up your ass earlier?” Blake asks. I knew this question was coming but damn him for remembering.
There's no use trying to deflect him either as Blake has a really good bullshit detector. Besides, I wanted to talk this Cassie thing through with him to get his thoughts. I take a deep breath to prepare myself to share personal stuff. Not something I’m good at even with my best mate.
“Do you remember back when we first arrived at Fort Benning, I had a girl back home?”
“The pretty little blonde in the picture, you kept in your wallet… I wondered what happened to her. I figured you’d fucked up somehow.”
Back then, I would take out the picture of Cassie each night, to see her beautiful face before I fell asleep. It kept me going through the weeks of grueling training. But how the hell did Blake know I had the picture in my wallet.
One thing's for sure, nobody knows the same picture, now slightly faded, is still tucked into the back of my wallet. I bet that would surprise him.
Cassie did look pretty in the picture taken on prom night. Not that I like Blake saying so. I cut him off before he goes any further.
“Yeah, she was beautiful. What went wrong is a long story, and you’re right I did fuck up. I ended it when it got too hard being apart.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” Blake asks impatiently, and they think I’m the asshole. Blake can just hide his assholery better than me.
“Well, I found out today she's now living here in the city and… I’m thinking I might give her a call. You know, reconnect. No big deal.”
Blake turns suddenly to stare at me.
“Sure… no big deal. Right, got it. Saying you might call some girl from your past is, of course, no big deal. I mean, you never call a woman more than once. You are the expert inone and donewith no exceptions. So definitely no big deal. Gotcha.”
It’s hard not to notice the sarcasm dripping from his words.
“Shut the fuck up, asshole.” I growl.
“Whoa, chill, bro. I’m only stating facts." He leans forward before continuing. "What I want to know is why is this woman different?”
A good question, and as usual, Blake has focused in on the main point. My whole dilemma.
“She was simply special when we dated back in high school. Sure, she was obviously beautiful. I mean, you even remember the photo. But there was this connection we had. We were close, and it was unique.”
Blake takes another sip of his beer. “But that was back in high school. You can’t expect it would be the same now. I mean, people change. We know this better than most.”
He’s right. I don’t need reminding of how much I’ve changed or been changed by events. Therein lies the problem with me contacting Cassie. I’m not the same person I was back in high school. But I can’t get past thewhat ifquestion still swirling around in my head.
“I get it, but maybe I'll regret not even trying to get in contact. If she wants nothing to do with me, then I’ll be done. But if she's willing to meet me, I can at least apologize… I was a bit of a dick.”
“Weren’t we all, man. I think you’d be hard-pressed to find a teenage boy who isn’t a dick when it comes to girls,” he concludes, easing my guilt a little.
We sit silently, drinking our beers for a few moments. Both lost in our own thoughts or maybe our own memories of our teen years.
