Passing Acquaintance

Out of the corner of my eye, an ex-colleague from bygone years spotted, walking in my direction, one in too many faces on a busy street now, in a big office then. What’s his name? One of those people you know but don’t know. I look away, but not before I catch him looking away, and the flicker of recognition, the little blip of nonplus on his face, mirroring my own, no doubt. We are barely 15 feet apart, and closing fast. Decision. Stop, greet, spew pleasantries, inquire into the health and general well-being of assorted family members, talk the small talk, two men stranded in the middle of the sidewalk by the rules of civility. Natter, chatter, patter, “Have you seen so-and-so lately?”, “No, not for a while ...”, invoking random names to hide the paucity of viable conversational material, waiting for that natural lull in the banter to extricate themselves politely-obviously-eagerly, finally concluding with the obligatory bald lies about running late and catching up over a beer at an unspecified time in the future. Or just walk on by, alibied by the bustle on the street and a suitably distracted expression. 8 feet, 7, 6, 5, 4 . . . I keep walking, eyes resolutely averted, feigning a sudden haste, with a slight frown acting as a Do Not Disturb sign. He must have made the same simultaneous decision, my progress being unchecked. Spared by each other through mute, mutual consent! A few more strides, and I’m released back into the anonymity of the crowd, my mouth silently whew-shaped after passing what’s-his-name?