“Joe? Is that you?” The woman speaking to me at the basketball game looked vaguely1 f***liar. “Marci?”
“It is you!” She exclaimed, smiling broadly. “Gosh, it’s good to see you again!”It was good to see Marci, too. Off and on during the past few decades I’ve wondered about her. I almost tried to track her down a few years ago after talking to a mutual2 friend who had indicated that the last decade had been pretty rocky for Marci. So bumping into her at the basketball game was, at the very least, fortuitous3.
We spent a few minutes catching up on the business of our lives-kids and careers, spouses and houses, education and recreation (it’s always a little disconcerting to see how few words are required to summarize 25 years of living). We played a little “have you seen...” and “did you know...” and we reminisced about the good old, bad old days. Then Marci grew qui