So, we'd parted company, my friend and I, and both of us were busy at work with loads of new responsibility, including extensive travel. On top of that, I had a new serious relationship, and Al had a new baby to help care for at home. We rarely saw one another and when we did, things just weren't the same. There was a distance between us that had never been there before. When I had time to reflect on what I'd lost, I just felt so very sad.
My own explanation for the chasm between Al and me was born of my continued paranoia about The Evils of Corporate America. I was convinced that Al had been brainwashed by his new boss and colleagues into believing he should no longer fraternize with the "underlings." Al thought my new boyfriend was the culprit. We both suffered under these delusions for a good long while, sadly.
At work, I found myself stretching to the outermost limits of my own abilities and sometimes beyond, and reviews of my performance in the new job began rolling in. After a particularly brutal feedback session, my confidence plummeted, leaving me doubting myself and wondering if I were even qualified for this position. In need of encouragement and clarity, I went to the best source of honesty and professional inspiration I knew. I called Al. He was able to help me get this negative review into perspective by focusing me on why I'd wanted the job, what skills I possessed that WOULD lead to my ultimate success, and reminding me that the reviewer in question was, and had been for the memorable past, a complete knucklehead. Ending our conversation some time later, I was laughing, happy and ready to face the challenges of this new position again, knowing that all would in fact be well. Al had delivered once again.
Months passed. Each of us remained busy (way too busy) with our jobs and lives, and soon I heard reports through the grapevine that stunned and terrified me. Al was suffering major health issues. Scared, I called and called him but never got an answer. But word came that doctors had diagnosed dangerously high blood pressure and put him on a new drug, a new diet, and a rigorous exercise program to get it under control. He finally called me weeks later. Only his voice and laugh on the phone could convince me he was okay.
Half a year later a new office space had opened in the building that was Al's professional home. I was summoned from the hinterlands to inhabit the new space, and moved immediately, looking forward to being close to Al again, but dreading being close to the corporate and political hogwash inevitable in a "headquarters" location. Once there, I discovered that Al's door was mostly closed, and other than warm greetings and superficial banter about families and football, we remained estranged. But, thanks to Al's new healthy lifestyle, I watched as he transformed himself from his chubby, jovial self, to a rock-solidly fit specimen of a man. He cut his hair very short, grew a beard, and acquired a new wardrobe. As he began training for triathlons and running marathon distances every weekend, a large percentage of Al melted away before my eyes. Many of our co-workers who didn't see him daily were so caught off guard by the changes that they didn't even recognize him, until he flashed his big, bright smile and reminded them, "Hey, it's me! Big Al." He was healthy as the proverbial horse, enrolled in an executive MBA program, and on top of his game at work.
Meanwhile, my life took a turn for the worse. As I traveled around the country lugging a heavy laptop flung over my shoulder, I developed pain in my neck, shoulder and arm. Gradually, the pain worsened, sometimes leaving me near paralysis on the whole left side of my upper body. I submitted to several procedures, courses of various drug and painkillers and got scrutinized by different specialists I hoped could fix me, but nothing worked - the pain got worse and worse until eventually, I found myself taped indelicately to a back board (with duct tape, I kid you not!) in the emergency room early one morning with a ruptured disk, facing major surgery that carried risks of paralysis and a multitude of other scary problems, along with a very long and tough recovery. I was afraid. For my health, my job, and my life.
But oh my goodness. I will never forget the moment Al walked through the door of that hospital room. His face bespoke his concern, but I felt completely reassured by that big, gorgeous smile. He strode to me and kissed me lightly on the cheek, inviting my tears of release and relief. With Al near me, I felt more safe. Less alone.
The surgery was successful and I went home to my little apartment to face the long and very dull house-bound recovery time of six weeks or more. Al visited each Friday afternoon bearing reports and funny stories of office happenings in my absence. We laughed a lot, and I felt us returning to the warmth and ease of the friendship we'd shared in our old office. With plenty of time for reflection, I took stock of my life and made some tough but long overdue decisions. At the top of the list was continuing to restore my friendship with Al to its former glory. And to end my current dating relationship, as it had been over for me emotionally for some time. And there was a man from my past who'd continually held a spot in my mind and heart. I knew I'd have to confront him with my feelings and at least attempt a reconcilation with him before I could move on with anyone else.
After six weeks of recovery, I returned to work and was back in action quickly. I began a work-out program to rebuild my strength and flexibility. Al and I often found ourselves in the office gym at the same time, and one evening, as we both toiled away at our respective apparatae, we started talking about "the good old days" when we'd first started working together. Eventually I just told him I missed those days and his friendship. He responded so kindly.
We began having lunches together on occasion, and I discovered that although Al's door was still closed a majority of each workday, a light knock would illicit a friendly invitation, and we'd spend a few minutes running over the current episodes of our lives, good and bad, personal and professional. We had one another back, and it felt great. Gradually, our conversations, which had been lopsided in terms of subject matter (my dating life had always been the focus), began to even out. Al shared his life story with me, including his childhood as the youngest son of an abusive alcoholic and the fact that his perfectly blissful marriage was ending perfectly unblissfully. I was shocked and hurt for him.
Meanwhile, I sought reconciliation with my former boyfriend and was welcomed back with openish arms. I enjoyed my time with him, and the relationship seemed better and more promising than it had been originally. But Al, struggling through his divorce and the recent loss of his very special nephew, needed my friendship in the way that I had always previously needed his. I could not let him down. The time I spent with Al became an issue in my new relationship, but my loyalties belonged with my longtime friend, and I was unwilling to leave him alone and hurting. Additionally, the old problems in my first attempt at a relationship with this man began to resurface, and though we continued to date, lack of communication would eventually lead to our demise.
One beautiful fall afternoon in October, after a great baseball game, Al and I sat on the veranda of my apartment, drinking wine and eating boiled peanuts (cooked WITH a hamhock, thank you), listening to old Lionel Richie and Earth Wind & Fire tunes and nostalgically ruminating about anything our relaxed minds lit upon. The sun began to set, and the air stirred in a chilly breeze.
There was a hush in our conversation, and Al stirred from his chair to stand, and then to kneel, in front of mine. He leaned close to me and hugged me. And then, he did a very odd thing.
He kissed me.
