Pete and I find ourselves having an absolutely glorious walk on the powder white sands of Port Saint Joe, Florida. It’s a stunning late summer day, not too hot. Pete doesn’t even have his tongue out.
There’s nobody out right now. I mean there is absolutely nobody out on the beach right now.
Checking my Apple watch — it’s August 17, 1989.
Looking a few hundred yards down the beach, there’s a lone piece of driftwood. Sitting alone on the driftwood is a young boy, maybe 12 years old. Rounded head, dark features, broad nose, dark curly hair — it’s obvious this is me.
“Petey boy, this is going to be fun,” I say without much enthusiasm. Pete sits and looks at me with his beautiful brown eyes. Like he’s saying to me ‘I’ve got you, Human.’ “Let’s go.”
The two of us start to walk closer and closer to the driftwood. 12 year old me looks up and he starts to run. Pete lunges on his leash as I hold him back.
“Shit, this is gonna be harder than I thought it was gonna be. It’s okay, buddy,” I say to Pete with a head pat.
We keep walking, not running after the younger me.
Maybe a half-mile up the beach is a pier. Some folks are on the pier fishing and feeding the seagulls, but it’s still rather slow.
Underneath the pier is 12 year old me. He’s sitting with his back against one of the pilings.
“Hey Ryan?” I say to him. He starts to run. “Ryan, it’s okay. I just want to talk to you, buddy.”
My younger self stares back at me with his beautiful chestnut eyes.
“Are you gonna be mean to me?” he asks.
“That’s why I’m here. Sit down, I’m not here to hurt you or be mean to you,” I say. We both sit on the sand and lean against the piling.
“Dad’s cooking burgers tonight. I need to get back to the room.”
“They won’t be ready until almost 9. Mom and Dad are going to get in a fight. You don’t want any part of that. We’ve got time.” Younger Ryan looks back at me with a look of sheer terror in his eyes. “Breathe, buddy. It’s gonna be okay.”
“What do you want?” He asks. As he does, Pete has laid down at his feet and has laid his head on his lap.
“I need to talk. I want to talk and I just want you to listen, okay? Can you do that?”
“You’re not gonna tell me to shut up??
“Of course not. Are you willing to listen?”
“As long as you’re not mean to me.”
“I promise I’m not gonna be mean to you. That’s why I’m here. I’ve been a real jerk to you lately.” My younger self looks up at me with a look that can only mean ‘you think!’
I look at him and smile.
“You can say it, you know. You know you want to.”
“You’ve been a real asshole to me lately.”
“I know. I’ve ignored you. I’ve made you feel inferior. I’ve made you feel insignificant. I’ve made you feel like you don’t matter.”
“When you said that what happened over 30 years ago didn’t matter, that hurt.”
“Thank you for saying that. What else hurts?”
“When you keep telling me that we look bad without a haircut.”
“I said that I look like a hobo. Many times. That hurt. What else?”
“What are you doing?”
“Do you remember the first time we met on this beach? You were 7.”
“Yeah, didn’t you tell me that we were gonna write a book?”
“I lied,” I say. He gets up to run. “Hang on. We wrote two! The second one isn’t quite out yet, but it’s so good. And we’ve been in two more.”
“Can smart people still read them?”
“More smart people can read them than ever before. Way more!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, and you know what else? You’re going to have a podcast that people are going to love. What a podcast? It’s like a radio show. So many people are going to listen to that.”
“Are you messing with me?”
“Ryan, what a — ”
“Can I talk?”
“The sand is yours.”
“I’m really nervous, but I know I’m talking to myself here so I think it’s cool. You need me. Right now in your life, you need me. More than you’ve ever needed me before. This new book, the new job, the girlfriend — you need me. But I think I can help you.”
“Can I say something? I hear you. And I was gonna say the exact same thing. Your heart, my grown up brain, and your kid brain — we can rule this world together.”
“Yeah we can.”
“But…please accept my apology. I have been an asshole to you. I have been mean to you. I’ve been rotten to you. You don’t deserve it. I am terribly, terribly sorry. And I pray you forgive me.”
“I’m sorry too — ”
“You’ve got nothing — ”
“Yeah, I do. I haven’t spoken up. You haven’t heard me. I need to do better.”
“You’re fine. And yes, I accept your apology that you didn’t need to give me. Ry, I look at you and I see everything I could have been in my adult life. And I see everything I am. But most of all, I see everything about my adult self that hurts. My heart, my soul, my mind — I have been such an ashole to you. We have to work together. But I promise you this, I will absolutely be a better friend to you. I will listen to you, protect you, and comfort you.”
As I say that, my younger self starts to cry.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” He then comes in for a big hug. “You know something? You’ve got a big heart yourself.”
