Dedicated to a lawyer Mom knew
At first, I could not believe it was him. I squinted in the hot, grease-infused atmosphere of the North Station diner. No, this fact could not be escaped: Sitting forlorn at the counter was my old college friend, Leon Metz. His curly brown hair had grown carelessly wild–partially obscuring a thickly bearded face. Once clean-cut and of laser-piercing intelligence, he now betrayed none of that, being as shaggy as a junkyard dog with a vacant stare. His tattered and threadbare garb looked like Salvation Army donation rejects. They were caked with filth, as if he had been tunneling under the earth for a panacea he could not find here. A fat, aimless fly buzzed around his head, but he did not seem to notice.
It was obvious that his being there was an act of charity, for nobody would go near him–save the kindly grill operator who shoveled his plate with spatulas full of sizzling corned beef hash. Leon’s lips moved–not in thanks, but in acknowledgement of an unseen and arcane presence. I was, for the moment, frozen, not knowing what to do. I couldn’t get past the changes he had gone through, for they shocked and moved me to my deepest being. We had been in law school together, eons ago. I had done well but, compared to Leon, I was always just catching up. His personality and intellect had made him a glorious luminary that many people surrounding him were glad to but reflect.
Planets that might have otherwise been dead, gray wastelands were given the life and vitality of color in the warmth of his radiant sphere. He was, however, never showy, or boisterous. He wasn’t even particularly handsome. His average face would draw no second glances. Behind his brilliance, he had always been mild-mannered and shy, but women loved him. Despite his plain looks, Leon would always have a lady of ethereal beauty by his side, and he was never dumped by any of them. It had always been he who would say at that stage of their relationship, he felt that things would be better if they were to be or stay friends. The amazing thing was that none of those women ever interpreted what he said as being anything other than what he had meant it to mean. He possessed a natural and kindhearted sincerity that made people feel at home. All those women remained his friends for years. To my knowledge, not one of them ever left feeling used or cheapened by him.
Looking at him in that diner, though, I could see that life had used him, and his current state was but a cruel mask that cheapened any first impression of him. A tar-like substance was ingrained under untrimmed fingernails. In vain I looked to see if he still wore his class ring, but those scarred and dirty hands were naked of any former glory. They bore no evidence of the cultured intelligence that had once guided them. In order to find out if I could smell booze, I managed to break my paralysis enough to get closer, but layers of human neglect and garbage-can-fire-smoke were all my wrinkling nose could detect. What had happened to him? After graduation we had drifted apart and out of touch. Perhaps that was due to the directions we each had chosen to go since parting… I had gone straight to work but, after his internship, he joined the Peace Corps–a very strange choice for a spit-polished corporate attorney poised for greatness.
I wondered if anybody else from his past recognized him and if they had, had they been as shocked into stillness as I was? He was so kind when I knew him. He made those around him better human beings. Why was I not a better person? Why couldn’t I approach and go the extra distance–closing the gap between us–lending my hand as he had always been ready to lend his? A lump that I couldn’t swallow formed in my throat. Threatening the calm and collected deportment of normalcy I had so carefully erected over the years, I felt tears bordering my eyelids. My insides felt as if I were suspended over a wide black chasm as I watched, through tunnel vision, his hunched form–a universe away–muttering soft esoterica. I stood there before utter strangeness and felt corresponding terror.
Bursting out of the establishment, I plowed through a jungle of strangers to get away from and put behind me that nameless unknown. To my shame, I have never gone back to that eatery. In fact, I have since altogether avoided that area of Boston. I even try not to think of Leon and what I did to him–or didn’t do for him–until he wanders into my dreams with a lost expression that begs me to implore the desperate question: ‘What happened to you?’
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