Across a Crowded Room

Some enchanted evening, you may see a stranger.
You may see a stranger across a crowded room,
And somehow you know, you know even then,
That somewhere, you'll see him again and again.

When we first arrived at Southfork, the big house was full of people. We picked up our name tags in the front parlor and then started looking around the room at all the other name tags. Soon, we were meeting people, left and right. At one point, I looked over the shoulder of the person who was talking to me and instantly recognized someone on the other side of the room who, I noticed, was at that moment instantly recognizing me. It was Dick Abernathy. We both waded toward each other. We shook hands. I told Dick that I recognized him and he said that he recognized me. I told him where his old house used to be and he told me where my old house had been. We slapped each other on the back, and waded off into the crowd.

Later, out on the patio, we ran into each other again. I asked him if he had seen Caleb Wallwork. Much later, after the dinner under the tent and after the program, we ran into each other yet again. This time we didn't speak, but just smiled as we passed by, as though to acknowledge the essential futility of the situation.