"I can't believe it! I never thought I'd see you in a place like this."
The place is a club. I'm taking a break from dancing with my friends and sitting in a dark corner, content to just study the night life for a while. When the man who says this sits down next to me, hesitantly, I stare at him for a while. A face I used to avoid at all costs. A name I wanted to forget forever, but now it slips out of me unbidden. He brightens.
We get started on the usual small talk ("it's been years"; "just out celebrating a friend's birthday"; "so where are you nowadays") in the usual way - friendly interest towards someone I last saw half a lifetime ago, polite distance to signal I'm not interested in getting picked up by a drunk guy in a club. And I'm doing it on autopilot because I'm kind of in shock. Trying to sort out how I feel about having him near me, talking to me, smiling.
Twenty-three years ago, in school, I was terrified of him and much of my day was spent thinking up strategies to avoid him. Thirteen years ago, at a class reunion, I was secretly triumphant and smug when I realised I had done so much more with my life than he ever would with his. Three years ago, at another reunion, I judged him a hopeless case, shrugged and didn't give him a second thought.
And now. I can hardly believe my own feelings. There is no trace of fear, anger, bitterness, smugness or contempt. No love either. I feel slightly sorry for him, even concerned. He says I'm pretty (he used to call me ugly). He talks respectfully about my faith (he used to mock it without mercy). And the utterly unbelievable, other-wordly thing, he actually apologizes for terrorizing me in school - in the rather rambling way of the slightly drunk, but with genuine remorse.
So we talk for half an hour. I promise to stay in touch, and mean it. I don't know which one of us is more surprised. I touch his arm and smile as we finally say "see you around" and I go back to my friends.
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