Hopyard Nights

I've seen post traumatic stress syndrome.  He sits across from me at the Hopyard Ale House in San Ramon at least once a week for the past 4 months.  He makes very funny observations and he has very funny tales.  I think most of the time he just laughs at my embarrassing behavior as I constantly misunderstand what the server is saying to me.   He's engaging and very interesting to be with.   But he also doesn't sleep and he has other serious manifestations of stress.  I can't imagine the utter shock and convulsive agony it was to find her.  I wished so much that it hadn't ever happened and I wish even more it hadn't happened to him.

We talk.  We talk about plans.  We come up with party ideas.  We talk about his friends and his school plans.  We talk about girls he likes.  We talk about girls he should like.  We talk about his writing; he is an excellent writer.  We talk about current events and films we've seen.

We talk about Sherri.  We work through it, ever slowly.  This is something that we both realize needs good third-party advice; and he will get that.

I want to round the mark.  In a sailboat race they travel to a predetermined waypoint that designates the farthest part of the course.  They then round the mark and head to the finish.  It's time for us to start the downhill run.  When you see him or talk to him, let him know that you care.



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