My spouse informed me a fortnight ago that my old friend Joel was seen in the neighbourhood inviting people in person for his daughter’s wedding. As Joel was my school mate and my bosom friend for three decades, as I had portrayed to my family, we were certain that he would invite us. Joel had done exceptionally well in life, I somehow had lagged behind. However, we reasoned that friendhip was beyond the pale of success stories. In my conversations at home, I was very proud of being his childhood friend.
In anticipation of the invitation, I decided to have my best suit drycleaned… and windowshopped for what could be a good wedding gift for a little girl I had seen grow into a beautiful young lady. I imagined myself among the front row invitees.
I waited for Joel’s car to draw up outside my little home and my spouse sympathetically hoped that Joel would remember to call me.
Joel forgot, perhaps. Joel ignored me perhaps. The wedding date skipped me, deliberately or in memory lapse.
What remains is my drycleaned suit and my dusty perception of friendship. And the silence at the dinner table.