"It's a small world, but complicated..."

Sometimes when I meet someone for the first time, I know it's been aligned to be that way. I don't know what it is, but the encounter will feel perfectly congruent with my own life in that moment. Most of the time, I don't bother recording those experiences because I wouldn't want to restrict the feelings to just words on paper.
On an early Sunday morning I woke up from a night of tossing and turning. I forgot to eat the day before, which isn't unusual for the evenings that I work. I remember my legs being shaky and Space Cadet was a fitting title for the way I carried on conversation, worse than usual. I would start a sentence and completely forget that I was even talking halfway through, like my brain was in orbit away from my physical body. Before I even got out of bed I could hear people making plans for the day.

"Dominique is in town from Quebec, he want's to hang out and get lunch."

 by this time, it was about 10 a.m. I had fallen asleep around 3 and woken up at 8. I used the 2 hours difference desperately hiding from the sun. I'm not someone who can function well on 5 hours of rest. I can do exceptionally well with anything less than 3, and anything past 7, but the four hour gap between those render me absolutely useless when it comes to acting like a normal person. It's truly a sight to behold when I try and carry on with tasks as a sleep deprived shell of a person. I'm usually way to tired to be existential.
We got to the restaurant and my eagerness to eat a wholesome meal was overpowering the irritation I felt from skipping coffee. The waitress took my mom's order and then mine. I could have folded myself up and fallen asleep right at the chipped dining table if Dominique hadn't walked in.  Just by looking at the way he carried himself, I could tell he was someone my family would have had connections to; with his neat silver streaked hair combed back, ratty black hoodie and skate shoes. We exchanged hello's and a decent handshake. He gave the waitress his order and then it was up to us to find our way in conversation. I stayed quiet, only saying thank you when he complimented my favorite shirt and haircut (both he said he had in the past.) During the silent gaps in conversation, he would tug his neatly groomed salt and pepper beard and look at the art on the walls. The food arrived and as we ate I could see his utensils shaking slightly after we made a small toast with plastic cups. I thought it was really endearing that he was scared to talk to us, of all people. I was the one putting my glasses on and then removing them again for no reason at all, a telltale sign of nervousness. As the meal continued, I let my guard down. I began to find little parts of myself in the way Dominique spoke about Springfield. He went on and on about the places he wants to remember and it was through the same filter I've always hoped to be able to see my home through after I've left. We finished our food, left a generous tip, and went on our way. My mom offered to take him around to old haunts even after he insisted he'd already seen the only important place: the downtown curb where he used to sit and daydream about leaving Springfield. There was no sign of reluctance in his steely eyes when he finally folded and hopped into our car. By the way our trip was going and how his childlike enthusiasm grew, I could tell that he had more important places to see. There’s something about looking at things and places people treasure as memories, especially when they want you to experience the trip of nostalgia with them. There was one house that we searched high and low for, and in the end we found it along with all of its cryptic sentimental value. Dominique was really shaken up at seeing it in it's present state and Mom asked if everything was alright. He just kept repeating, "It's okay, it's okay...just an old friend's place is all. It's just so crazy..." He said this over and over to himself. Even though I craned for further explanation, I never pried at the meaning.
The car trip continued around town. From Pershing to Parkview to Phelp's Grove and smaller back road nooks. He said things like "I was always kind of different from everyone I met," and "working at Burger King was my 5 a.m. punishment for dropping out of high school." and so on. The way Dominique described his reminiscent car trip was something I'll always be able to visualize perfectly in my mind. He said, “It’s like shards of in-congruent memories coming together.” When I think of that sentence I can see myself driving through town with a friend in about 15 years time. We'll pass certain places in town and they'll look completely different, but I'll still be able to make out the small fragments of what it used to be. Maybe when that happens there'll be someone young sitting in the back seat like me.

It's nice to be able to sit in the back seat and relive someone's stories like a phantom. There's no outstanding expectation to say anything meaningful or poignant. You just have to open your notebook and know how to make it look like you're not writing down everything they say.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_JfN9Wm7fg