Over the Holidays I had the opportunity to catch up with an old friend of mine. Its funny because we seemed to have “run” with the same crowds, just at different times in our lives. The catching up that we did had less to do with ourselves and more to do with the other people that we both knew.
We fell upon the subject of an old boyfriend of mine, and the conversation went something like this…
“You know ” my friend says to me “he changed when he moved back here.”
“Changed?!” I asked
“He was different” my friend makes a funny expression at me
“Different?! Did I ruin him? It didn’t end well you know.” I frown
“I didn’t know, no body knows, no body knows anything, but you could tell. Anyway, he turned out alright. He is happy now.” My friend gives me a knowing look.
“I’ve heard” I say.
I haven’t heard, but I’ve seen pictures of him with his family. I’ve seen him in those cumbersome suits and ties. He looks happy, although constrained. He looks changed. He looks, different.
He looks like a Man, a family Man. Not the fun loving Boy I knew and loved. Not the Boy who would roll lemons down the side of a mountain. Not the Boy who drove a jeep along the beach.
That’s okay, change is good. After all, I got the Boy, and I’d take the Boy every time.