Aging

As soon as I sat down to eat my special Labor Day dinner, an African American man interrupted me.
"Is your name Eddy?" He asked with a grin on his face.
"Yes." I drew a blank as I looked at the stranger.
"Do you remember me? We were San Quentin together. You were a youngster then."
"I remember your face, but I don't remember your name." He started to look familiar as I searched his face for a name.
"I'm Nate."
Then I remembered. We used to play basketball and hang out occasionally in San Quentin 16 years ago. I was just a kid then.
"I recognized you when you entered the chowhall," Nate said enthusiastically. "Go ahead and eat your dinner. I'll catch up with you later."
"Please do that. It's nice to see you." I shook his hand and was amazed that he recognized me and remembered my name after all these years. I must not have changed too much in appearance. However, Nate did.

Nate has less hair, greying on the sides, more wrinkles, shorter because I was still growing back in those days. I didn't remember him because I was seeing an old man. Nate is a life prisoner like myself. We were transferred to different prisons throughout the years. 16 years later we meet up in a different prison but still in the same system.

I'm glad that I aged well.