Engagement party

Over the years, friends fall out of touch. These things just seem to happen. Times change, people grow and sooner or later you just aren’t that close. Phil is one of my oldest friends, of which there are not many. We’ve been very good friends for 15 years.

Phil and I were in the same class in third through eighth grade in Narrowsburg. We played on numerous sports teams together: baseball and basketball, and I spent many, many days at his house. He had/has a large and loving family and I remember fondly summer birthday parties in his backyard pool, weekly dinners at his large dining room table and tons of movies on his couch.

In high school, we went to different ones; me to Honesdale and him to Liberty— so we saw each other less. But we hung out and the year before we left for college, we both worked at Dave’s Big Eddy Diner on Main Street in Narrowsburg.

In college, Phil had a job working weekend nights as a dispatcher. I think he was working something crazy like 40 hours every weekend and going to school at the same time. Never knowing how he could maintain those hours, I was happy to have a friend to talk to at four in the morning; he always picked up.

With old friends, so much of your friendship is based on nostalgic memories. The-time-I-hit-him-in-the-face-with-a-snowball kind of memories. But, inevitably, as you grow older, you start to have stronger and stronger opinions about what you believe and it’s a risky situation to talk about politics and other such explosive topics.

A conversation at a bar before last year’s election made me start to see tangible differences in the way that Phil and I think about the world. Though the argument sort of played like a joke, I definitely thought that our friendship was slightly different after that. And it was awhile before we saw each other again. But we did.

I remember when he told me he had proposed. We were on the phone and I was walking down Canal Street, heading to work on a Saturday morning and I chided him about why he didn’t just say, “I’m engaged.” Saving me having to ask him if Kirstin, his former girlfriend—current fiancé— said yes. She had.

“Woooow,” I said, and smiled, “Congratulations, man, that’s great.”

“Thanks,” he said and he sounded excited.

A few weeks later, he told me about his engagement party. Told me I had to come and I said I would.

Logan, another old friend, and his girlfriend picked me up at my apartment and we drove out to the Papa Razzi restaurant in Westbury, LI last Sunday. Logan and I reminisced along the way.

Papa Razzi is a nice place, with a huge cool old sign hanging next to the highway and tons of black and white framed photos of famous people on the walls. I spent most of my time between Sylvester Stallone andAndy Warhol, pictured with Mick Jagger.

I caught up with Laura, Phil’s mom, on the last 10 years of our respective lives and I talked with his sisters like nothing had changed. We were all the same but older, and it was a pleasant realization for me. The room felt like home.

Phil, Logan and I talked about the wedding, Phil telling us about the plans.

“We could have it tomorrow,” he said, and smiled. He has always been very well prepared.

I asked Phil if he remembered me hitting him in the face with a snowball. He said he did.

“I was really angry,” he said.

“I remember,” I said and tried not to smile.

Smile not to make fun of him (the whole thing had been an accident), but because it all felt very natural.

After everyone ate brunch (did you know that penne a la vodka with a little maple syrup is actually very good?), Kirstin and Phil gathered a bunch of us together off to the side of the room and asked us to be in the wedding party.

We all took a photo together. The first, I suddenly realized, of many. Times change, people grow and sometimes we have the opportunity to create new nostalgic memories.

I smiled wide, happy for old friends and family.

- Zac Stuart-Pontier