Remembering Faces

Today I saw this man I used to know.

And it was strange, because as I walked passed him, he looked at me, and I back at him as if we were now engaged to say something.

Something like a simple hello, or even just a nod. Just something. Some sort of recognition.

I was ready for it, just as much as I was also ready to say something if he didn't say anything.

It would have been (what I thought at the time) a startled or shocked sort of hello, which would eventually lead to the realisation that once-upon-a-time we both knew each other.

That memory.

That identification of a familiar face.

A stranger saying hello to you, but not a stranger at all.

And the 'hello' instantaneously makes sense to you.

"WOW! I remember this person. I REMEMBER THIS PERSON!"

"I recognise this person."

"What do I say?"

"What was his name?"

"And yes, a few years ago we were good friends. I remember now."

Well the term 'friend' (in this example) is very difficult to define.

Because this man wasn't really a friend at all, or the typical sort of person that I knew to be a friend.

I wouldn't say that he was one of my "friends."

One my mates, one of my buddies.

People I grew up with, worked with, went to school with, the list goes on.

He was a different sort of friend, but again not really a friend at all.

He was just someone that I knew and had shared many great moments with, many hilarious moments. We laughed, we talked, we laughed a little more.

He even opened up to me about his past and his darker days. The worse times of his life, the most difficult, challenging parts of his life.

He told me about his family, his hobbies, his ideas, his thoughts, his dreams, and his achievements.

He even told me what he was going to have for dinner on a particular given day.

He was someone great.

And I remembered him, just as we were walking past each other.

The engaging exchange of eye contact lasted a split second, but there was something there. I knew there was something. Something we immediately shared then automatically remembered.

But we didn't say anything to one another. He walked on by, just as I did.

I'm not sure if he even looked back; to give himself a double take at that person he once knew, or he thought he knew - as I didn't look back either.

The chance of communication was gone. The reunion was never to be. It was cancelled.

The moment had been and gone just as quick as it never existed.

Such a shame, i thought, but at the same time, not at all.

Because the memory was there. It had been refreshed, it had been recovered, just as I write this now. It was out of retirement, hibernation, whatever, it had jumped out of the sea and on to land.

What a great moment. What a great memory. What a great man this was.

His name was Tony, and a few years ago I used to serve him a few pints every day at the same time around two or three in the afternoon when I worked at this pub.

Maybe I could return to that pub and see if he still goes there, at that same time; share a pint with him, rather than serving it to him this time.

But, it wouldn't be the same. That time was then, and that friendship was then, or whatever it was.

He was a great man, and his name was Tony.

"People constantly walk in and out of your life, be grateful and appreciative for the time you spend with them."

I like this a lot. I like the simplicity of it, and the simple writing style of short, declarative sentences in short paragraphs complimented the simplicity of the idea. And I like the portrayal of the idea as simple, when in fact, it is not simple at all.
I bet most readers have experienced a moment much like this, and so it is easy to identify with the narrator. I like the repetition of the narrator calling the second main character a "great man," because while the reader would not necessarily share that feeling, it feels that the narrator is being sincere when he says it.
The final sentence brings it all together explicitly stating the moral of the story,
but I actually think the piece would be better without the final sentence - the story itself says what the final sentence says in a more artful way.