I hadn’t seen him in ten years. Well, of course it had been that long. That’s how it has to happen, right?

The last time I saw him he had just graduated and was leaving to work for the FBI as a translator. It’s apparently quite easy to get in if you major in a language. He said he took French because it was easy but it helped that he already knew it from high school.

There was a party and we drank milk because he would never have liqueur. Then he left.

Black suit, black tie, aviators, and black chucks. That’s how I knew it was him. That and the voice. He never stopped talking. It was when he did that you knew there was a problem. Only with that small look of confusion and concentration and curiosity all mixed in one did you know he was really thinking. How to fix this or make that better. Or pull the best prank you’d ever seen.

I wondered if he’d changed, and if he still had that look from time to time. Maybe it was time to get the band back together again. Maybe that’s why he was here at my doorstep.