Later that day, with bags full the miscellaneous things I picked up from the drugstore that seemed to be the somewhat insignificant things that I needed for the next few months, I walked down a quiet street where in the distance a figure looked at me from afar. The figure looked familiar, and I must have looked just like him, walking slowly towards him, squinting, trying to make out his figure. That was Robert, who when we came close enough to each other that the other one was in focus, we laughed. I derived a real sense of belonging from these chance encounters which made me feel connected to this city that I wasn’t sure I was still a part of and was feeling that I was growing slightly alienated from. He knew I was in town, I tried to reach him several times on his mobile phone, but with no luck of getting through. His hands were empty, I was weighted down by my bags, so he ran over and put his arms around me, which I'd never felt before. He and I had been yet again one of those "almost happened" relationships. Always friends, always seemed to be dating someone else when the other was single. . He apologized profusely for not getting in touch with me. His mobile phone was broken. He was on a business trip and was just coming back from the airport.

He looked different. Like the rest of us, of course, he'd gotten a bit older. He seemed a bit shrunken. I'd always remembered him as being husky, even muscular. And his hair, which he used to keep cropped short, he seemed to be growing out. . Since I had left, we wrote each other the occasional email. He would send me mix tapes of his latest favorite songs. We both shared a taste for the same kind of rock music. Often, I couldn't find this music in Uzbekistan. The little kiosks that I went to full of pirate CDs and cassettes tended to have more pop music and more European pop, with very little American rock. And his letters were long and detailed. A few months back he had written to me that he was finally in a relationship with a big bearish man whom he had described as kind.


A few weeks earlier, Brian, the boyfriend sent me an email inviting me to a surprise party that he was throwing for Robert. I emailed the boyfriend back saying that unfortunately, I wasn't able to join since I didn't live in New York anymore, but wanted to send my best wishes. His boyfriend had written me back and had said that he had heard so much about me. I suppose back in Tashkent it was always reassuring to hear that people back home don't forget you. Of course, it was a let down when you get to New York and people can't really find time for you in their busy New York lives. The timing was really bad for Robert, but he really wanted to spend time together. He offerred to drive me to the airport on Saturday. "You bought a car?" I asked. He hadn't bought a car, "but my bofriend has one. We can catch up on the ride." I really looked forward to it. It would be a pleasant way to leave the city, I thought. I never really enjoyed much those rides to and from the airport, passing by all those graveyards in Queens, which always made me wonder, especially when I was coming in to the city, if anyone close to me had died in the time that I was away. It was also nice, since no one from my family ever thought to meet me at the airport or take me to the airport. People don't do that in New York because the airport is so far from the city, I recall my mother once writing me, when she assured me that no one would be at JFK to meet me on my arrival. I was never sure who these people were -- if they were really all people in New York? People in my family? Only the people who I happened to know? It was nice to be proven somewhat wrong about this and that people did care enough about each other in New York to accompany them to or from the airport.  ¶ 4:15 PM