"Lunch for two please. We'd like to sit outside on the private porch. And I have to pee. Where's the restroom?"
Startled, she gives me directions down the hall, grabs menus and crosses out a drawing of the table on the private portico.
Returning to the lobby my lunch mate blows in wearing a red Economist tee-shirt, dark blue shorts and flip flops. We embrace and are immediately led outside to the private dining balcony overlooking Savannah's largest square. After ordering drinks Chris instructs the waitress to give us half-an-hour before we order. She shuts the door and conversation erupts.
It's been four years since we've seen one another.
We were different people then, committed to changing a city, making it a shining light upon a hill. He made The Creative Coast while I cleaned the streets of social problems. We were both successful.
We'd see each other at crowded cocktail parties, formal banquets and Chamber of Commerce events. I hosted him for lunch once at The Starfish Café, a working restaurant and culinary arts training program for homeless people. We enjoyed each other but rarely had opportunities to grow a friendship. Admiration was from a distance.
Then, pretty simultaneously, we both left.
He moved across the world to Estonia, between Sweden and Finland, and I sailed across the Bull River Bridge to Tybee Island where everyday I travel the world while sitting on a Beloved Back Deck.
We kept up with each other and Chris still spends part of the year in Savannah. He's pretty persistent when he wants something and kept after me until I crossed the bridge again to catch up in person.
We spend three hours talking like the friends we always could have been.
We discuss the city we both love and gave so much to make better. Savannah took everything we had until so little was left, we moved on. It reverted to what it's always been, a city that loves its history and will keep you stuck in the past.
We mostly talked about now, changing other corners of the world, and new possibilities. He's ready to get back to Europe and I'm Jonesing for my island in the sea. We vow to remain connected.
"Hey," he says as we conclude, "one of my partners will be in town and I want to take him to Doc's Bar on Tybee. You want to join us for beers?"
"Yeah," I quickly answer ... because parts of the world really don't need changing.
Driving through the marsh with the top down, the sun blazing in a cloudless blue sky, radio blasting Bon Jovi screaming "Who says you can't go back?" make me smile.
"Who wants to?" I say out loud.
And I drive straight to the future.
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