We were terrible at handshakes anyway

We were terrible at handshakes anyway.

When I arrive in the parking lot at Douthat, Ken is already there.  It's winter, not frozen or snowed in, but the trees are bare, their dead leaves piled up around their trunks like the shirts of a bunch of cold swimmers looking out over the lake.  I haven't seen Ken in almost a year, I estimate, but he's the same.  50 now, he muscles out of his truck, bald, lean, maybe 200 pounds of him, the shape of a man you're careful with when you shake his hand.  He will crush you, perhaps.  So when he stretches his hand out, I sort of go for a high five of some kind instead, though I'm not sure what exactly I'm proposing.  To compromise, or perhaps in his confusion, he drops his elbow and shifts his thumb back to point at his huge chest, like maybe we're going to arm wrestle.  I switch to fist bump, but I do so at the same moment he settles into fuck-it-let's-just-hug-mode, and things get away from us fast, and I just barely avoid punching him in the dick.

Nice to see you, buddy, it's been 11 months.  Here's a punch in the softies.  Happy birthday.

-

I think back on that ride with Ken a lot now, a big Douthat shred for his 50th birthday before the Virus hit.  Nearing 5 hours into that ride, and on the verge of physical and emotional collapse, we really settled in and started smiling at each other, at how weird we are, truly bizarre human beings who, for fun, take something they both enjoy immensely and then do it for so long that it's not fun anymore.  We finished right on time.  We drank a beer, ate some chips, and before he left I hugged the absolute shit out him.

In the future, I will...something else.

-

It's Spring now, stuck in my office and it's raining, and it occurs to me that maybe this Virus is our big chance to finally get greeting each other right.  If handshaking is over with - which there's sound epidemiology to support and has been for a long time - then maybe this is the moment we've all been waiting for.  If you've ever been accidental-handshake-slapped in the tits before, this is your chance: pick something.

Certain cultures put their hands together in praise, give a subtle bow.  Namaste.
Others simply raise their eyebrows and smile.
What will we do?

Last week, Ken invited me back to Douthat, another loop into the highs and the lows of it all.  I had to turn him down.  I've been a little sick.  I've got projects to work on with the kids.  I've been...running.  There I said it.  I've been running.  I'VE BEEN RUNNING.

But also, more than anything, I live in fear right now.  I don't know how to greet him when I see him again.

It's a blank slate, friends, or at least it will be someday.  Our good intentions cannot hibernate forever.  How will we express them?

Up, up, up.