So yesterday, I got to meet another of Rand’s friends. A while ago, we made plans to go out to Rochester and spend some time with Scott and his wife and kids. I knew two things about Scott: he lives near Rochester, and he’s in a band. We made plans to come out when he had a gig, so we could see him play.

As we were driving, I was thinking about how it was kind of strange that I hadn’t really been to Rochester since X and I broke up.

Once we got off the Thruway, we were in territory I wasn’t completely familiar with, other than recognizing the names of some of the towns. We drove through Spencerport (Spencerport, I thought…that’s near Brockport. I used to drive through Brockport on my way to X’s.)

So we’re driving, driving, driving, and Rand’s not exactly sure where the house is. Knowing that we’re just a few doors past the house, Rand pulls into the gas station on the corner to call Scott.

Gee, I think…something about this seems…hey…I know this corner.

Directly across from us is a now-closed garage where X used to have work done on his car. We’re like 5 minutes away from X’s parents’ house.

No. Freaking. Way.

So, where was the band playing, you ask? At the bowling alley in Hilton, X’s hometown. I’d never been in the bowling alley before, but it’s attached to a pizza place that has the best mozzarella sticks in the entire world. How do I know this? Because we used to get food there all the time.

“I have to admit, I feel a little weird about being here,” I told Rand. It wasn’t sad or upsetting in any way, it was just…strange. Surreal. Dream-like, if you will.

“Do you want to go say hi?” he asked.

I just laughed.

“Nah. That’s okay.”