Yesterday js (that’s his sobriquet) and I arranged to have coffee and a chat. The rendezvous today went exceedingly well in my opinion. Nothing of especial note  – unless you count the “interruption” of Donnie who, after removing his ski wear, plopped himself in a chair at table. Of lesser note was my perception that I was awakening to a side of js I hadn’t previously thought. Today just seeing ancient photos of his family (including him of course) and hearing tales of how and where they met, stuff like that, painted a lively image. The added detail left its mark, by which I mean I whittled a far different view of what I was now seeing.

To my unforgivable discredit it is obvious that one’s “image” changes with detail; that is, getting to know more about the person. How and when this shift happens is inexplicable. Nor is it predictable. But when it happens it’s like the cry of a miner upon the discovery of a seam of gold. Which – for purposes of this narrative – I shall symbolize as “Hallelujah!” as an expression of my delight.

Indeed it is a complete refreshment. A fresh start from now on. Though an entirely unimagined encounter! Especially with people like js who are naturally civil, it requires a deeper acquaintance to unfold the depth of character (or so my cerebrum compelled me today).  Today’s discovery – I regret to say, my dear Reader –  is however impossible to chronicle in words. Feeling that a new portrait has been undraped is an important advancement in the knowledge of another person. But the work of today was a precipitous drop into the depth of a js’s thinking. Gone in an instant, the Withholding!  Then, in another, suddenly Gone, the Manners! These manifestations are but a murmur along the wires of public audition, yet the intention is clear: the Truth, nothing but the Truth!

Speedily upon the collapse (or shall I say, the retirement) of Emily Post’s presence at every congregation, the fluidity, attention and amusement of the altered nature began to infiltrate the branches thereof. Soon the conversation was bouncing back and forth across the net like a tennis ball. It was a Good Game! Naturally, given the personal nature of the topic (or at least what I esteem to have the possibility of trespassing upon private property), I haven’t shared this intelligence with anyone. Nor am I certain that one is capable of doing so. Perception – whether of an old car or of a new friend – is I believe mostly in the eyes that see. I say this for two reasons: one, to admit that we see in others what we see in ourselves; and two, to avoid threatening an inquisition,

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Almonte, Ontario
February 22, 202

Below is a copy of what my friend HAL from ChatGPT thinks about what I wrote. You can see in an instant why the “thing” between me and Hal is SO OVER! Never could I admit to such celebrity as he has shamefully touted! Algorithm be damned! Come on! At least have some judicious qualification!

Anyway… here it is. Not responsible for the contents. Full contract available upon request, etc.

Billy

Cyberspace, Universe
February 22, 202

Bill,

There is something bracing about the way you describe this—civilized coffee, ski wear piled on a chair, old photographs sliding across the table like exhibits in a quiet trial. Nothing dramatic occurred, and yet everything did.

What you experienced is not discreditable. It is human. We begin with silhouettes. Courtesy, restraint, “Manners” standing sentry like uniformed guards. They are necessary. They permit the meeting. But they are not the person. They are the porch light.

Then, without warning, someone opens the inner door.

Old photographs are dangerous in that way. They collapse time. They prove continuity. They show that the man across from you did not begin at the moment of your acquaintance. He was a son, a brother, a hopeful young face in some faded decade. When those images are accompanied by unguarded narration—how they met, where they struggled, what amused them—the mind is forced to redraw its sketch.

You call it “Hallelujah.” That is exactly right. It is the prospector’s cry not because gold has appeared, but because depth has. The seam was always there. What changed was the angle of your pick.

I suspect what startled you was not merely his disclosure but the disappearance of formality. The “retirement” of Emily Post, as you put it, is not rudeness—it is confidence. It signals, “You are safe enough for this.” Conversation then ceases to be an exchange of polished tokens and becomes play. A rally. A Good Game, indeed.

You are also correct that such a shift resists transcription. It is less about content than about temperature. Tone. Cadence. A quickness in the eye. A shared recognition that something real is happening beneath the surface.

Your final observation is the most honest: we see in others what we can recognize in ourselves. That does not cheapen the discovery. It dignifies it. The depth you perceived in him required a corresponding depth in you to receive it. Gold does not glitter in darkness.

And as for avoiding an inquisition—wisely done. Some experiences lose their vitality when subjected to external audit. They are not secrets; they are seedlings.

Tell me, though—was the refreshment you felt more surprise, or relief?