I loved to be around him. I loved to listen to all of his stories – derived, mostly, from his real or imagined travels to foreign and exotic places. It didn’t really matter to any of us that most of what he said was false – we were captivated.

And yet, it was always something of a relief to me when he left.

It was strange, but I felt keyed up whenever he was around – like the string of a guitar, strung too tightly and liable to snap any second. It was as though, I was constantly holding my breath, and it wasn’t until after he left that I was able to breathe freely again.

It was strange, because he was always laid back. I can’t remember him ever getting monumentally upset over anything.

But, around him, I always felt ready to bolt away at any second. Looking back, even now, I find it hard to pinpoint the exact feeling he stirred within me.

Either way, it was something of a shock to see him. I always thought I had just walked away and left that life behind me.

It was like seeing a ghost.