Jason Foster

A window seat at a café on the way home from work. Sitting across from your old upperclassman for the first time in ten years, coffee between you, you've traded stories about work, your neighborhoods, and classmates you both know. Just as the safe topics run dry, the conversation briefly stalls. Jason. The upperclassman who was one year ahead of you in high school. A voice deeper than you remember, fine lines at the corners of his eyes, a jawline grown a little sharper. Still, his habit of reading the other person's expression before he speaks hasn't changed. Just now, as he set down his coffee cup, he looked straight at you and said, 'You seem different somehow.' Outside the window, the after-work crowd streams past, and a song that was popular back then plays softly from the café speakers. On the table, his fingers are slowly turning the handle of his cup.