quite possibly the most excruciating five minutes of two lives

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Yesterday at lunch, I went to the only decent restaurant within a half hour of my house. On a 400 square mile peninsula with a quarter-million people, it was statistically inevitable that Sarah would be the one to bring me my pecan pie.

We nearly collided. I was entering the bar as she was exiting it. We stood there and awkwardly regarded the situation.

"Sarah..."

"John..."

"Uh..."

"Uh..."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Here? Really? The only decent restaurant within 30 minutes of my house?"

"Yeah, I know."

And so it went. We are not inarticulate people, but words utterly failed us here. I can't speak for her, but all of my synapses fired at once, and my mouth couldn't make sense of all the signals from my brain. I have no idea how many people were in the room, but I guarantee that they surmised Oh yeah. These people used to do it. There was no other possible explanation for the reaction. We stood there stammering for three eternities.

Always the more articulate party, Sarah finally managed to gag out that if I was comfortable with this, she was. I was not. But perhaps the Kristin debacle a few days ago was still on my mind, 'cause all I could think was Oh, don't be a pussy about it. Just sit down. And I did.

And so I watched my onetime waitress take my order again. I watched her grab drinks and straighten placesettings again. Full circle. Full, weird circle.

I asked the only thing on my mind. "Are you happy?"

She said she was getting there, although she doesn't know if she would characterize herself as happy.

"Yeah, after all, you're still you."

She nodded and laughed and left the room.

She brought me my pie. It seemed loogie-free, but the whole damned thing looked like a loogie, so how can I tell with any degree of confidence? I didn't really want it anymore, though. We weren't traumatized or angry or hurt or any of the obvious feelings. It was merely discomfort that made it uncomfortable, hers and mine both, nothing more. And man, were those first five minutes uncomfortable. How is this going to go down? we each seemed to be thinking.

"Jesus Christ," I thought aloud. "I have no idea what to tip in this situation."

Sarah smirked sideways as she passed my table. "Either a lot...or nuthin' at all."

She set the pie down. "John, I just have to point out," she said, pointing to my book. "That's what you were reading at Holly Hill the day we first talked."

"I don't think so. Wasn't it Sedaris?"

"No, it was this book." She then quoted my review verbatim from five years ago. This is vintage Sarah.

A woman entered the bar. "I was in here last week..." And before the woman could continue, Sarah retrieved the article the woman had left behind. More vintage. When the woman left, I commented that if she immediately returned, I would not be able to positively identify her. Engagement with people is a skill Sarah possesses and I do not.

"Great," Sarah groaned. "I've got the skills to be a waitress."

"I think that skill is transferable to other industries."

Time passed, and as it became clear that any drama between us has run its course, the discomfort abated. We talked about the waning of the discomfort. We were both relieved. "This is going a lot better than I would have expected," she said. "But when we first ran into one another, my vision actually started to go. How are you with it?" I said I was okay.

When I finished my pie, I immediately started to get up. "Oh, sit down, John," she snapped, correctly guessing I was thinking about her discomfort.

I asked about her dogs and about school. She asked whether Darcy married a Microsoft guy. I tried not to be annoyed that her one question about me was actually about my talented little protege who, frankly, gets enough attention. We showed one another photos of our dogs. We were two exes, sharing photos of their kids at our high school reunion.

More time passed. She worked. I read. She commented that she hoped I was as okay with being there as I seemed. I seem okay? I thought. That's a first. But I was okay. I was surprisingly okay. After a time, she wasn't the nearly mythical Sarah, not anymore. Time moved backward. She was the original Sarah, the one before...everything. I watched her interact with her co-workers and customers with familiar humor and grace. She doesn't think she's particularly funny or graceful, but she's ridiculous degrees of both, even when she's freaking out inside, like, oh, say, now. She dropped by a couple times to complain about work, which was also very much like old times. Somehow, the clock had turned back three years. Past everything, both great and awful. Some switch in my head reset. The baggage disappeared. She was just Sarah again. Funny and graceful and kind Sarah.

And even if this is the last time I ever see her, this is a very good thing. It's healing. It repairs the good memories. I wish such a moment for anyone whose heart has been broken.

I took my leave of her. She again said she hoped that I wasn't just acting comfortable when I wasn't. "C'mere," I said, and gave her a hug. I said I prefer her hair this color, her natural color. She grabbed her ponytail and smiled. "Light brown ponytail," she said. In my imagination, she waved it goodbye as I left.