The Pickup Sticks

I stood on the edge of the street, looking both ways. A car honked and I took a step back and my heel dug into the curb and my balance wavered, but I knew I was fine. The car passed and in its trail, wafting up out of the pavement, arose an old friend, a familiar smile, helping me cross the street and striding by my side all the way home. What is the brain's purpose, I wonder, in missing a person it hasn't thought of in years.