Read Online Friends Like These: My Worldwide Quest to Find My Best Childhood Friends, Knock on Their Doors, and Ask Them to Come Out and Play by Danny Wallace - Free Book Online

Reunited! Who gets
banned
from Friends Reunited? Banned! For being “abusive”! Or “misleading”! And which one was it, anyway? What if it had been neither?
     What if I really
had
been some kind of crazy-faced stalker, who’d engineered it so that the object of his affection would be reading that profile
     just as he appeared from behind the curtains? Eh?
Then
they’d be sorry!
    I grumpily created a new account and started to click my way around, feeling slightly dirty thanks to Friends Reunited’s unfounded
     allegations of abuse and mistrust. I found my way to my first two schools…
    Park Place Primary School, Dundee: where I first vomited on Scott Butcher’s lap. I’m not sure why I wrote “first” there; it’s not like it happened more than
     once. It would have been a pretty odd hobby.
    Holywell Junior School, Loughborough: where I was mistaken for P. WALLS and which later burned down. Two incidents which I must assure you are completely unconnected.
    I was to be disappointed. I’d expected a trea sure trove of old names—names that would tug at the heartstrings and redden
     the cheeks. But none of the big guns were on there. None of the major players. None of my
gang.
    How had Neil done it? How had Neil managed to keep hold of everyone?
    Sure, there was Lucy Redmond. But Lucy Redmond stank of chips and used to beat people up.
    Mmm. Chips.
    Just a few more minutes…
    And anyway, who’d want to be reunited with old chippy-fists Redmond? Plus, her uncle once stabbed a man. (I may or may not
     have changed her name.)
    And so I moved on to Ralph Allen School, and then Garendon, but it was the same story. My gang seemed to be a gang that didn’t
     want to be found. There were interesting diversions, of course. People I remembered, or half-remembered, or
thought
I remembered. People who were reaching out to their pasts, and saying hello, and filling you in on twenty years in just one
     or two simple sentences. Whole lives summed up in twelve words or less…
    … I’m now dad to Harvey and working in Web design…
    … I got married in September to Jon, we are very happy…
    But where there was celebration, there were also some that hinted at… something
else.
Dreams gone wrong. Or opportunities missed. Or regrets just realized. Or simply the fear of being forgotten…
    … Bought a house. Too young. Had a kid. Too young. Get in touch and let’s remember better times…
    … Hi. Does anyone remember me? Pleeeeeease email me if you do…
    … Would love anyone who remembers me to get in touch… oh, and if anyone needs a wedding dress, I’ve got one for sale. Worn
     once, never used…
    Some were married. Some already divorced. Some had kids. Some talked only of work. And the first girl I ever kissed had just
     come out as a lesbian. I was happy for her. Although I couldn’t help but feel slightly responsible.
    But down through those long lists of names, on page after page, I saw no Cameron Dewa. No Akira Matsui. And no Christopher
     Guirrean.
    All I really wanted was to see whether these people were okay; whether they were still having fun; whether they were still
     out there. Just knowing would’ve been enough.
    I thought about what Neil’s friend Simon had said tonight, about growing up, about growing older.
“Makes it seem less worrying, doesn’t it, when you know
everyone’s
doing it…”
    I thought back to Christopher Guirrean. To our first day at school. We had bonded instantly, best friends from the first moment
     we laid eyes upon each other. For me, he summed up an entire part of my life. A part that had evaporated the minute we’d clambered
     into our canary-yellow Morris Ital and driven out of Dundee. And as I searched the site, and searched it some more, I realized
     Chris was nowhere to be seen. Nowhere to be
found.
    Still. Maybe
he’d
find
me
one day.
    Maybe
he
was going through the same thing
I
was.
    It made sense. We were the same age. Always had been. From the same place. Always