Saturday, March 18, 2023

Day 77 - Nostalgia Game

 Nostalgia Game 
Matthew Ryan Fischer

 
Recently I played the nostalgia game with Leslie Mayer, and we were both disappointed by how many restaurants there were from our teenage years that didn’t survive the pandemic. I had thought about taking a road trip across America to celebrate finally feeling free and I mentioned it to her. Recently free from a bad marriage, she too was looking for something to do that would symbolize a fresh start. I mentioned the road trip and maybe we could stop in at some old haunts. So much for that idea.
It had been five years since I had last seen her. Leslie had visited a friend Rachel in Oceanside and I made the two-hour trip to see her. We went to a tap room and tasted specialty brews and played board games. Later, we went met with a group of Rachel’s friends at a local dive bar and played pool and I bought a roll of quarters so we could have a competition at pinball. At the end of the night Leslie and I stood in the parking lot for a little too long as we both tried to find excuses for me to stay. She was married and I wasn’t unsure of what she wanted and was afraid to ask. In the end, she went home with Rachel and I sat outside a gas station drinking coffee, angry at myself and my indecision.
Ten years ago, Leslie had a job at a boutique hotel in Denver, and I was working at a resort in Hawaii. We talked over text and email and sent silly pictures back and forth. I made her a playlist of songs we liked in High School and she liked to ask for my help solving simple day-to-day problems even though I was a day away. We both talked about trying to get jobs in Los Angeles or San Diego. We hadn’t lived in the same city in years, but both were looking for a change. It would be easier to tackle a new town with a long time dear old friend. Or that’s what we told each other. I thought there was subtext. Or wanted there to be. I told myself if we transferred to the same town, then I owed it to myself to try. But all that talk was sidelined after she met a man named Dan and Denver suddenly seemed a little more palatable.
Fifteen years ago, Leslie through a party in her parents’ basement. A group of us were back from college for winter break. I hadn’t talked to Leslie in six months. I had never seen her drink. She had cut her hair extra short and college had changed her. She had a confidence and seemed comfortable in a way that I had never seen before. Whatever it was that made her meek and nervous in High School, it was gone now. I drank a little less than normal, and watched her movements through the night, trying to make sure we had plenty of opportunities to bump into each other. Dylan’s band was playing, and the music was too loud to talk, but I remember my hand on her hip and her hand on my back as we danced close.
Sixteen years ago, Leslie asked me to help her shop for supplies for college. I told her I didn’t really know much about computers. She smiled and said that was okay, she already knew what she was buying. She just wanted me to go along for the ride. Later that night we parked in the parking lot at Denny’s and stared up at the stars while we listened to a mix tape she had made. Eventually we held hands, and I can almost remember the taste perspiration on her lips.
Three days ago, I mapped out my travel pattern and what silly tourist traps I wanted to stop to see. I emailed Leslie my itinerary, saying I could be in Denver in about a day, and from there the rest of the time-table was flexible.
I have yet to hear back.

No comments:

Post a Comment