Strangers and Friends

Seated in a large and quiet public
waiting room, from his distance
the stranger lifts his eyes from his
cellphone and smiles at me. An instant
thought races: too old for a casual
pick-up -- me, that is, and him as well.
I return his smile and he asks how am I?
How am I? At the moment puzzled, but
I respond: well, thank you. As he moves
his seat close to mine he unleashes a
series of questions revealing he knows
intimate details of my life, but I have
no idea who this man is. He smiles
again and acknowledges that I don't
recall who he is, so when he prods
my memory with a few succinct words
it's my turn to ask questions, after a
gasp escapes my mouth. There is an
affirmation of deep-seated friendship 
belying the casual nature of our
relationship and we update one another
on family matters with warmth and
affection. When we finally part it
is with a deep embrace and sadness.
We have always acknowledged the
shared sentiments and emotions common
to us both, even while his extended
tribe has been assassinating members
of mine without stop in the Middle East.