Blast from the Past

It’s not every day a guy gets to talk to an old friend he hasn’t heard from in over fifteen years. At least it didn’t used to be. I guess Facebook is changing that pretty quickly. It probably won’t be long before people never even lose touch in the first place. But for me, Internet or not, it’s still a pretty great day when something like that occurs. And that’s exactly what happened to me this afternoon.

Through a strange online version of the Kevin Bacon game, my old high school buddy Luis found me on this gigantic social network. Now I already knew Facebook was huge. But I had no idea just how huge. It turns out that my old friend relocated to Colombia some fifteen years ago, and has been living there ever since. I realize that’s not exactly a stone’s throw from Georgia, but at least it’s still within driving distance. Besides, I’ve heard South Carolina is a beautiful state.

After a few quick digital exchanges, I came to understand that my pal had actually left the United States completely. Right after graduation he packed up his stuff and took off for the cocaine exporting capital of the world (as I remember he was incredibly ambitious). It seems "The Colombian Connection," as he was referred to jokingly back in school, was finally earning his reputation.

If this had taken place say, a generation ago, there is very little chance we would have ever been reunited. But now thanks to Facebook (and of course Al Gore – father of the Internet), it appeared our destinies were intertwined once again. And no, he didn’t stumble onto the website during a weekend excursion back to the States. Nope. It seems the image on their homepage depicting the entire world being connected wasn’t such a stretch after all. After speaking with Luis further I came to realize that Colombia is a much nicer place than we tend to give it credit for.

“So why in the world did you ever leave the South man,” I asked him wondering how anyone could do such a thing.

“Might want to check your map buddy. I’m a bit further south than you are,” he replied.

“You know what I mean,” I said determined to get to the bottom of this perplexing mystery.

“Well, I must admit I do sometimes miss that good ol’ Southern cooking. You’re mom made a mean raccoon meatloaf,” he replied reminiscently.

“I know. It’s to die for.”

“But I finally just got tired of all the B.S. living stateside. Heck, I hear it’s gotten so bad up there lately that Obama is considering renaming it the B.S. of A. if it doesn’t get better soon. I hope he gets free boots as a perk for being the president. There’s no doubt he’s knee deep in you-know-what right now.”

“Yeah, I see your point.” My friend was right. Our country, the same one many in my family served for so proudly, was now on the brink of total disaster. Or worse. We could be headed toward socialism. He obviously saw this coming a long time ago and high tailed it out of here. It's amazing you think you know someone and never even realize they have psychic ability.

“So I moved down here. People think it’s so dangerous. But I’ve lived here for fifteen years and haven’t even been mugged once,” he said emphatically.

This was indeed something to be proud of. During that time I’ve lived in the U.S. and actually have been held at gunpoint. Granted I don’t carry a shotgun strapped across my back for a trip to the local grocery store but I’m not against it. There’s something to be said for preemptive measures.

Logically speaking, my buddy was making quite a case for his decision. Creeping into my own mind was the possibility of packing up the family and moving there myself. Sure there’s the drug smuggling, blazing equatorial heat, and guerrillas waging war in the streets to contend with. But my son has been training to be a Ninja since he could walk. Between the two of us I’m sure we could keep his mother and sister safe.

“Ya’ll got any jobs down there?” I inquired figuring even if Shannon wouldn’t make the move I might still be able to commute somehow. There's got to be lots of empty rafts available to get over there. And getting back should be a breeze too, so long as I choose the right employer. I hear employee benefits are defined a little differently down there.

“A few. That is if you don’t mind packing up “cargo” planes. Why, do you want to move down here or something?”

Then I remembered. My dang red hair was a problem. Not the hair itself but rather the pasty white complexion that comes with it. I get a third degree burn from mowing the grass with my shirt off. There’s no way I could handle Columbia.

“It did cross my mind. Unfortunately, I’m afraid it’s just not realistic. But I have to say it was great hearing from you man.”

“Same here. If you ever change your mind let me know. By the way, I see that you’re now doing well as a writer. Congratulations. I see that sarcasm of yours is finally paying off.”

“Well I am a writer, but as far as the “doing well” part and it “paying off,” I’m still working on it. But I would love to send you a copy of the new book when it comes out.”

“That would be great! You might have to pay a pretty penny though. Getting stuff from the States to Columbia is usually not very easy (funny how they seem to have no trouble at all getting stuff out).”

“I’ll see what I can do. It was great talking to you Luis. Take care buddy.”

“You too. Stay in touch.”

What a great day. I was reconnected with a long lost friend and now have a viable option should things get even worse here. That reminds me, I need to get a passport. I wonder if my brother would let me borrow his jet ski. And it might be a good idea to hit the shooting range a couple times this summer. It’s better to hope for the best and prepare for the worst I always say.