That's what 'friends' are for

It had been about five years since I graduated from college and, therefore, about five years since I'd seen David Russell. Frankly, that wasn't too surprising. I liked Dave and hung out with him a few times, but we were never very close.

Or at least I never felt particularly close to him. But I often wondered whether Dave felt closer to me - especially in recent years, when he would fill me in on almost every detail of his life via Facebook.

I often worried that, by not reciprocating, I was hurting a relationship that hardly existed from my perspective.

Indeed, I felt bad that I wasn't able to meet Dave when, one day, he announced that he was "headed shortly to Jade in Flushing for dim sum"; I was in Philadelphia at the time and couldn't get to Queens on such short notice.

Another time, Dave announced that he was "Off to see the Kandinsky show at the Guggenheim." I was actually in New York that weekend, but I had just bought tickets to see Chicago. Why hadn't Dave told me earlier?

Soon our relationship dwindled to one-way small talk. "Just saw an ad on MSNBC for a tinnitus treatment called 'Quietus,'" he posted one afternoon. "Wasn't that the name of the suicide kit in 'Children of Men'?" Embarrassingly, I'd never even heard of the film Children of Men. But rather than disappoint my "friend" with my cultural ignorance, I pretended I was too distracted by a viral YouTube video (puppies!) to notice his question.

Our "friend"-ship hit another snag shortly afterward. One morning, Dave asked, "Anyone know if Blackwater and Bechtel provide same-sex partner benefits?" Had he really forgotten that I'm neither gay nor working in defense contracting?

After that, I felt uncomfortable responding to him, even when I did have something to say. "Police unions might be even more evil than teachers' unions," Dave opined one morning. He's totally wrong, I thought. But given all that we'd been through, it hardly felt like the right time to get into an argument. So I let it go.

nolead begins

On Dec. 31, I finally had an opportunity to make things right. That morning, Dave posted on Facebook that he was at the San Francisco airport awaiting a flight.

He was having a pretty lousy time. "SFO security a total nightmare today," he wrote. "Actual comment from UA staffer: 'The line looks long but it's only about 40 minutes.' " I felt his pain: Who doesn't hate long lines at airports - and the airline employees who downplay them?

A few minutes later, Dave shared his flight details: "UA172 lv SFO 834a ar BOS 510p." It was fate: I was in Boston visiting my in-laws, and I could easily meet him at the airport.

At 5 p.m., I parked my car in the short-term lot at Logan International Airport and headed for the United Airlines arrivals area.

Two thoughts crossed my mind (neither of which I posted to Facebook). First, what if I missed Dave when he exited the terminal? Obviously, he wasn't expecting me, and I didn't have his phone number, so I couldn't let him know I was going to pick him up. Also, I hadn't seen the guy in five years, and the Brad Pitt photo he'd posted as his Facebook "doppelgänger" would hardly help me identify him.

Second, what should we talk about once I threw Dave's bags in the trunk? Should I apologize for not meeting him for dim sum in Flushing a few months earlier? Should I ask him how he liked the bowl of chowder he had tweeted about on Dec. 19? Should I make small talk by asking him to name his three favorite sitcoms, given his Dec. 6 announcement that "30 Rock is now only the fourth-funniest show on television"? Should I ask him if he was still as "distressed about the apparent popularity of broccoli casserole" as he was at 9:41 p.m. on Nov. 26?

nolead begins

"Eric? Is that you?"

I looked up. "Dave! Do you have your things?"

"Huh?"

"I'm here to pick you up," I said. "I saw your Facebook posting. I hope your flight was better than your airport experience - those lines sounded miserable. Anyway, I'm parked in the lot."

Dave furrowed his brow. "Uh, are you stalking me or something?"

"No," I said. "I'm listening."