An old friend of mine called me last night. Late. Which meant that it was really late where he was calling from. He came straight to the point.
"Where are you?"
"What do you mean, where am I? You called me! And it's bloddy late, too."
"Well, OK, I am at home. Trying to fall asleep. Which reminds me, when are you coming to visit? I have a real guestroom for you and whoever you travel with nowadays..."
"That's not what I meant."
"No. Of course I know that you are at home, you putz. I asked you where you are. Now. In your life."
"You know what? I don't know. It feels like I am on the move. Like someone packed me up and put me on a U-Haul to the next part of my life. That's where I am. In transit."
"So you're lost?"
"Maybe. If I am, it really isn't bothering me at the moment. No more than anything else that is sitting boxed up in the back of a moving van."
"You and your stupid metaphors."
"Love you too."
The thing with friendships, as with most other relationships, is that as the years pass by, less needs to be said.