In decades, when we meet again,
I know what it will be like.
Tom will know I’m on my way up and that I should be there any minute.
He decides to start a walk on our regular walking route.
He knows I’ll catch up.
He’s going clockwise on our walking route, because it’s the evening and that is the best way to see the sunset.
He’s walking up the steep road.
He’s wearing his knee length athletic shorts, black crew socks scrunched down, black Brooks walking shoes, and an orange North Face puffy vest.
(We always wear bright colors on our walks. And I don’t know why, but he always wore that vest with shorts.)
I see his orange vest in the distance.
Somehow, I’m wearing my bright colors, too, and my running shoes.
I run to him.
I’m running fast, so fast that my legs feel like they are spinning and that I might tumble.
My arms are flying around, not like an experienced runner, like a child hurrying to the swing set.
I am happy.
I am laughing and gasping for air because I am out of breath, but so happy.
I keep clumsily running.
He’s still ahead of me.
I’m trying to catch up.
Right before I reach him he hears my footsteps and my gasping and laughing.
He turns slowly.
Like slow motion.
I am there.
This is what I see.
I didn’t know Toby was there!
Tom is still so young!
And I laugh.
And he laughs.
The laughter that I have missed for decades.
There is a lot to say, but so much time that it doesn’t all need said right now.
I only say breathless and smiling, “The kids are fine.”
He smiles back with a twinkle in his eyes- he knew they would be.
We hold hands, watch the setting sun and finish our walk.
Together.
