That One Face in the Crowd
I saw Cory on the 4th of July. Emphasis on the saw. Past tense. Completely visual, completely passive.
He was wearing all black, which I loved. Amidst the sea of American flags, he was an oasis of cynicism--cynicism that I ascribed to him. His black stocking cap suggested that the color was chosen for fashion, not political statement. It was nearly 90 degrees outside, though, so it could go either way. He also had some facial hair, particularly hair on his chin. That's really all I noticed.
It was nearly dark, and Lacey and I were walking back to our seats after visiting the port-a-potties. We also had circled the crowd in the hopes of finding some other friends or other Quincyan oddities that only surface on the fourth of July.
I was holding a Smirnoff Ice that I had mistakenly purchased for Leon when he asked for something "fruity." He meant cherry coke; I thought he meant raspberry-flavored alcohol. It was my second trip to the port-a-potties, and I wasn't even tipsy.
And then we passed him. It was Cory. He walked by, one of the dozens of people in the crowd, just another face, but I noticed him. I turned with him as soon as he passed. At the time, it was so crowded that I didn't doubt for a moment that he didn't see me. But now I look back and think that I was so obvious, he must have noticed.
He was alone.
I stared at him as he walked away, and Lacey looked completely puzzled. I didn't know how to explain to her who Cory was, so I told her I'd be right back, handed her the Smirnoff Ice, and darted after him.
By then, it was dark, and finding someone dressed in all black was more than a little daunting. I turned in a circle and could only make out the hundreds of people wearing red, white, and blue. And then there was a bright shot in the sky, over the river. The fireworks were starting. I returned to Lacey, who was chatting on her cell phone.
"Where'd you go? Who was that?" she asked, after ending her call.
"No one, just an old friend that I haven't talked to in months."
The next day, Cory and I both had business at the courthouse. I was there to apply for a marriage license. He was there to be sentenced for shoplifting, and how that didn't break his parole is a wonder to me.
If I'd caught up with him, I don't know what I would have said. I think that very point--not my labored attempt to come up with an explanation for Lacey--was the real reason I failed to find him. Or the real reason I allowed him the ten seconds he needed to disappear back into the crowd.
Half of me wonders if it was really him. But the other half knows it was. Still, all of me wonders why he pops up at times that I try to define as meaningful. I realize that his only meaning in my life is meaning that I have given him and could easily take back. It just never seems that simple.
He was wearing all black, which I loved. Amidst the sea of American flags, he was an oasis of cynicism--cynicism that I ascribed to him. His black stocking cap suggested that the color was chosen for fashion, not political statement. It was nearly 90 degrees outside, though, so it could go either way. He also had some facial hair, particularly hair on his chin. That's really all I noticed.
It was nearly dark, and Lacey and I were walking back to our seats after visiting the port-a-potties. We also had circled the crowd in the hopes of finding some other friends or other Quincyan oddities that only surface on the fourth of July.
I was holding a Smirnoff Ice that I had mistakenly purchased for Leon when he asked for something "fruity." He meant cherry coke; I thought he meant raspberry-flavored alcohol. It was my second trip to the port-a-potties, and I wasn't even tipsy.
And then we passed him. It was Cory. He walked by, one of the dozens of people in the crowd, just another face, but I noticed him. I turned with him as soon as he passed. At the time, it was so crowded that I didn't doubt for a moment that he didn't see me. But now I look back and think that I was so obvious, he must have noticed.
He was alone.
I stared at him as he walked away, and Lacey looked completely puzzled. I didn't know how to explain to her who Cory was, so I told her I'd be right back, handed her the Smirnoff Ice, and darted after him.
By then, it was dark, and finding someone dressed in all black was more than a little daunting. I turned in a circle and could only make out the hundreds of people wearing red, white, and blue. And then there was a bright shot in the sky, over the river. The fireworks were starting. I returned to Lacey, who was chatting on her cell phone.
"Where'd you go? Who was that?" she asked, after ending her call.
"No one, just an old friend that I haven't talked to in months."
The next day, Cory and I both had business at the courthouse. I was there to apply for a marriage license. He was there to be sentenced for shoplifting, and how that didn't break his parole is a wonder to me.
If I'd caught up with him, I don't know what I would have said. I think that very point--not my labored attempt to come up with an explanation for Lacey--was the real reason I failed to find him. Or the real reason I allowed him the ten seconds he needed to disappear back into the crowd.
Half of me wonders if it was really him. But the other half knows it was. Still, all of me wonders why he pops up at times that I try to define as meaningful. I realize that his only meaning in my life is meaning that I have given him and could easily take back. It just never seems that simple.