The last time I walked down Union Avenue (or Road, I can never remember) in the town where I grew up and where I lived through my early adulthood, I was bombarded by memories everywhere I looked. There’s the dealership where I bought my first car, that’s the BevMo that used to be the old movie theatre. Look, it’s the McDonalds where my sister worked in 2005 and that’s the street where my first apartment was. It’s all in that same neighborhood, connected to the same stretch of road. I’d be writing a novel if I listed every tie I have to that neighborhood, let alone the entire town.

Manteca is a place where every nook and cranny is embedded in my brain. Drive with me, ask me left or right, and I’ll have to think on it. It doesn’t matter which way you choose; you’ll end up in the same place. Manteca is a conduit for those born there. Every day, people I know leave and every day they come right back. I plan on being the exception to that rule, I only want to visit from now on. Maybe not even that.

In Manteca, I can’t go anywhere without running into someone I know. With a population of over 85,000 people, it’s far from a small town and yet it’s quiet and lazy. The kind of place you go when you’ve given up on living large and just need to get by. The same lady has been running the only bookstore in town for more than twenty years. I’ve spoken with her dozens of times, but she never remembers my face and I never learned her name. That’s Manteca, I’ve memorized the faces, but I can’t be bothered with names because I’m afraid to ask.

Returning for my first visit a few years ago, Ricky, one of my best and oldest friends, urged me to reconnect with Andrew, a childhood friend I had become estranged from. I was reluctant, Andrew and I had a nasty falling out a several years back. I had only learned to burn bridges; I didn’t yet know how to rebuild them.

Tentatively, I agreed to Ricky’s plan, trusting he was only thinking the best for me. He was, by the way, Ricky is one of those friends, like family, who’s always there and always cares. I’m so glad he pushed me out of my complacency. I’m glad he pushed me to move on from those old, stupid hurts of childhood. But at the time, I had no idea what to expect. We planned a night of Magic: the Gathering with a group of old friends, and Andrew was invited. It would be like the old days, Ricky said, and I hoped he was right.

We live in a strange world, and I’ve come to accept we are governed by something larger than myself, larger than all of us. Call it coincidence, call if fate; on the day of gathering I went out on my morning walk, headed to a favorite local coffee house near my sister’s house to study. Andrew happened to be filling his tank at the one and only Circle K as I walked by. We made eye contact, and I waved.

He waved back.

I thought about walking away—but what kind of bridge building would that be? So, I swallowed my pride and my fear and instead shook his hand.

We engaged in a bit of awkward small talk before he went for the throat: “Look, this is going to sound weird, but I think about you often. I hear you’re going through some things, and it makes me want to reach out. Though, I never really felt like I should.”

I nodded. I wasn’t ready for this conversation despite days of mental preparation. I didn’t know how to move forward. At this time, so many things in my life had fallen apart—I had no idea how to pick up the pieces.

“I appreciate that, I do,” I said, probably scratching my head and avoiding eye contact. “A lot has happened, and I don’t really have anything to say. The feelings I had those years ago—they’re not the feelings I have now. I’m happy we’ll be hanging out tonight.”

Not an elegant speech, or particularly warm, but just like that the hatchet was buried. Years of wounds bandaged by a few sentences and good intentions. Funny how simple these things can be.

He offered me a ride and I declined. I just like to walk, I explained, eight hours on a flight make you want to move; and besides, I wanted to hit 8,000 steps a day, I wanted to be a better person. The few steps I took off the sidewalk just then did more to aide in that goal than the entire summer’s worth of hikes. He understood, and we parted ways excited to hang out again in the evening.

My hometown has this strange, ephemeral place in my mind. It exists outside the limits of time and space, and sometimes I wonder if it even exists at all; if I made up that old life 2,500 miles away from where I live now.

Somehow, I can still navigate the hashmark roads, cross through the parks and the sketchy bike trail where dirty men lurk near the fence to Union High’s soccer fields. I always run into someone I once knew, who no longer knows me. I’m a stranger in this place once called home, always have been. I don’t want to be familiar. I want my face to disappear—I like reinventing myself every time I step foot in the bookstore. I like that town a lot more knowing I never I have to return if I don’t want to.

It’s been years since that trip home. I’ve written and rewritten this journal more than I’d care to admit. In the moment, I wrote the details, the visuals, the words spoken. Today I think about what that short conversation meant for the greater context of my life—and his.

Andrew told me on the phone that moment was one of the key experiences that rekindled his faith in God. What do I say to that? How can a three-minute exchange of uncomfortable words be so powerful to someone else? But they were—and for me, too. I think about that time in my life, the beginning of the man I became, that I am now, that I’m still becoming; and I marvel at the simplicity of repair. The power mending has on the soul.

A simple conversation, years of introspection, a friend regained; someone I’ve grown to trust and love and confide in. Someone who returns all that, time and time again. We’re not children anymore. Children kick down sandcastles and throw tantrums, but they learn by the guiding hand of their guardian to shift that energy into something kind and communal. A few words dispelled years of hurt, paved the way for something greater. A few words carried the will of God and accomplished so much.