Shortly after finding our route again following a freeway, the signs warned of an impending fork. I needed to move, antithetically, to the left at the fork, while my destination was to the right. As I did, I glanced off to my right at the sign for an exit to a surface street below. Fruitville Pike. I couldn't remember if I ever knew where Fruitville had been, but I knew the road well, and was sure the friend whose house I'd reached by it many times had at some point told me. We were running a bit early, and it might have been possible to divert briefly for coffee, except that it wasn't.
Months earlier, realizing something was up, he asked, and I told him. I also offered a link to a picture of myself and others taken by a mutual friend at a museum we were both members of. It stung a bit when he told me I was still welcome in his life, but his spouse wasn't so sure. In the meantime, future meetings would have to be away from his home. I resolved, having not made it happen to this point, that I would soon.
Following my fork, the road ducked under the other leg and pointed itself in the direction of my next stop. Sometimes life requires movement in ways with no obvious value, but until you take them, you won't know if that value is hiding just out of sight.