On a Saturday night, I found myself in the living room in front of a fire with friends. Shawn was playing Hotel California on his guitar, trying to lull our toddler to sleep. Ana sang along while holding a skein of yarn apart on her hands. Cheryl stood before her carefully winding the yarn into a ball. I sat on the floor watching my crochet hook catch the firelight as I moved along on a project. The coffee table had four glasses of wine on it.
Just like old times, I thought.
Except “old times” would have meant Save Ferris blasting on the stereo instead of acoustic guitar and vodka shots instead of wine.
Getting older isn’t such a bad thing.
These friends are old roommates from our college days. College roommates must be something like old war buddies. You come through that alive together and you are bonded for life. We’re family in every way that DNA can’t explain. It’s been nearly a decade since we were all living together in the same house but you pick up right where you left off in many respects. That thread that connects you runs forward and backward into oblivion like the ball of yarn that Cheryl is winding in front of the fire.
We spent the afternoon perusing a fantasy festival in Vacaville, taking shelter from the wind in what turned out to be the best Indian restaurant I’ve eaten at in recent memory. (If you find yourself in downtown Cow Town anytime soon, visit Torch of India and order the Chicken Tikka Masala. You can thank me later.) Before we left for the fair, Cheryl and I debated wardrobe options.
“Are we dressing for this thing?”
“I dunno. I pulled my Rohan dress down last night.”
“My hobbit costume’s in the car.”
“I kinda don’t feel like it.”
“Me neither.”
“Shall we agree to be lazy then?”
“Agreed.”
We arrived in Vacaville to be greeted by a very chilly wind cutting right through our flimsy modern day t-shirts.
“Never have I so longed for a corset and cloak.”
“My hobbit vest would be so much more comfortable than this.”
So the gods have spoken. Get older if you want, but don’t get lazy. Point taken.
We danced to Rats in the Haggis in the town square (there’s that ball of yarn again) until the chill wind drove us homeward to a warm fire. Later, in the final hours of the evening, squished on to the couch watching Firefly reruns and finishing the second bottle of wine, I looked at my friends.
In the years between, we’ve earned diapers, mortgages, post-grad degrees, and the first of our gray hairs. There are 400 miles of road laid out between our respective residences. Wander you will and older you’ll get, but life moves in circles and sooner or later you’ll find yourself treading a path that still has your footprints in the dirt.
I settled into the couch, hip to hip with old friends and laughed at the drama playing out before us.
This feels like home.