the hero of the rest of that story

It was a dream

About this thing that used to happen all the time

     in our adolescence and adolescent adulthood

You and I were at one of those parties

     thrown by the larger circle of friends

Which we’d only agree to go to provided we had one another’s back

In this version, though

We’re actually not who we used to be

But who we’ve grown up to be

     You with the wife and kid, and the 9 to 5

          (or, the 7 to 5, in your case)

Me splitting time between perpetual student and clinic

And we’ve all returned, as if to a very specific sort of reunion

     You and I having a tacit agreement

     That my emotional entanglements of the past
(of which you’re well aware and we need not detail for these purposes)

     would not make me timid

It was going quite well

But I had one of my moments

     Someone requested you for something

     You were gone for what seemed an eternity of a few minutes

     I panicked

     I ran

I mean I really ran

     Somehow I had my shorts and shoes

     And I just started jogging off

          Down a neighborhood street that was a little bit like

          any street in every town I’ve ever lived in.

I worked up the requisite sweat after a couple of miles

Which seemed to get it out of my system

     But there I was returned to my senses and stranded

     Though with a phone in my pocket

               (which should tell you it definitely wasn’t the 90s)

And even in my dreams

Yours is the only number I still have memorized

“I’m sorry, man
     I pulled a John…”

“You pulled a John,”

     you laughed, not in the least disappointed

“But can I pick up some ice cream for everyone since I’m out?”

          (which should tell you I wasn’t 19 anymore)

You conferred with the rest of the guests

And decided on the spot this was the best way to explain why I wasn’t there

I woke up right after buying the Blue Bell

There’s no doubt in my mind you came and got me