A dear friend called today after almost two years, and within thirty seconds it was yesterday. The same morning, a man Avery barely knew came looking for him with a piece of flounder. And on the desk, the first letter from a listener. Three people arriving from three directions, each saying, in a different way, I found you.
An essay on the difference between absence and neglect, on loyalty that does not need winding, on the little black notebook and the versions people keep, and on learning to receive without turning the gift into a task. It ends, as they do, in the kitchen: the flounder, a hot pan, butter, lemon, three minutes and two.
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A note from the house: this is a personal podcast. Avery tells these stories as he remembers and understands them, from his own life and perspective. When other people wander into them, he protects what belongs to them; some details are changed or left out for that reason.
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The essay, as it was read
[gentle music] A small note before we begin. This is a personal podcast. I tell these stories as I remember and understand them, from my own life and perspective. When other people wander into them, I protect what belongs to them. Some details are changed or left out for that reason.
These are my words. My memories. And tonight, a phone call, and a fish. All right. Come in.
It is already warm. A dear friend called me today. We had barely spoken in almost two years. And within thirty seconds we were talking as though we had spoken yesterday. No ceremony.
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