The old friend who’d arrived out of the blue an hour before was standing now on the small landing outside my front door. He was confused. His head bowed with uncertainty while his neck tensed with determination. After 20 years of trying, he’d just left his old home state. “I hate Texas,” he said. “I never want to hear about Texas again. Texas has ruined my life.” It was a chorus he’d repeated several times during his visit, but he’d stopped just out the door to say it again as if a moment’s relenting or a single false step would be the crack in his shell through which he’d fall all the way back to San Antonio. “We’ll go drink beer,” he said, finally trudging…
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