Old friends in new locations

The ferry was just leaving the port of Argentia and the rocky shores of Newfoundland when I thought of Calvin. As the huge ship glided through the early-morning mist, I reflected on the two weeks I had just spent traversing my ancestral home.\nFor me, breathing the air on The Rock and gazing out onto the Atlantic Ocean from the hills of St. John's had been a moving, even life-altering experience. I had learned about where I came from, learned about the Newfie spirit and courage that courses through my veins.\nAnd out of everyone in my life, every person who had made an impact on me, I wanted Calvin there with me to share my experience.\nAnd that was kind of strange. For one, I hadn't seen Calvin for three years, hadn't talked to him in more than two. We had fallen out of touch. But that wasn't really the strangest part.\nI had just spent two weeks with people who were entirely Irish or English descendants, people who had spent their entire lives on the bleak but beautiful island of Newfoundland, scratching out livings as fishermen or laborers in a timber plant.\nAnd now, as I was leaving that behind me, I thought of Calvin, a humble, jovial, African-American photojournalist who had spent his entire life living in rural North Carolina.\nAs I settled into the 14-hour ferry ride to Sydney, Nova Scotia, I wondered why Calvin had crossed my mind. I remembered the two years I spent working at small daily newspapers in North Carolina. I remembered how Calvin welcomed me with a huge smile, warm handshake and a affable, "Hey man, nice to meet you."\nI remembered how Calvin and I covered car accidents and press conferences and boisterous town meetings together. I remembered how we played basketball at the local rec center; Calvin invariably gave me a whuppin' every time, the Tar Heel fan beating the hapless Hoosier.\nI remembered how I spent one weekend in bed. From Friday night to Sunday afternoon I pulled the covers up over my head, afraid of the world outside and the failure I was sure to find if I ventured outside my door. I missed job assignments and scared my family -- and myself.\nAnd I remembered how I called Calvin from my bed. I remembered how he was at my door within 10 minutes. I remembered how he somehow got me off the floor and into some clothes. I remembered how he pulled me up, supported me, believed in me. I remembered how, on that Sunday, I realized I had been blessed with one of the best friends anyone could have, someone who accepted me as I was without condition or pretense.\nAs I drifted out into the Atlantic Ocean, I remembered how much Calvin meant to me, and how much I missed him, and I realized why I thought of him -- because, like my trip to Newfoundland, Calvin had changed my life.\nThis past Tuesday I called the offices of the Daily Southerner, the local paper in the bustling metropolis of Tarboro, N.C. I asked for Calvin. After a few seconds of holding, a voice came on the other end.\n"This is Calvin."\n"Calvin, I can't believe it's you. This is Ryan."\nCalvin laughed, his warmth and charisma instantly making me feel welcome and happy -- just like he did when I first met him six years ago.\n"I knew right away that it was you, man," he said. "How you been?"\nIt was the first time I had talked to Calvin in years. It had been way too long. And I realized Tuesday that Calvin had actually been with me all along. Friends like him stay with you forever. Even in the chilly confines of the North Atlantic.