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The poor linen napkin. All it ever did was lay politely in my lap until I started strangling it to death in my hands. I couldn't help it; I sat there completely on edge. My eyes darted between the rain-streaked window on my right and the mahogany stairs leading down to the restaurant's kitchen on my left. The knots in my stomach coiled so tightly even Houdini could not escape. As I transitioned from strangling my dinner napkin to drowning a sliver of orange in my cocktail with a straw, my mind began to wander. Every version of this story had already been lived in countless emails, letters, and late night Skype sessions. How do you meet someone that you have known most of your life but never laid eyes on? There was no longer the security of four thousand miles and an ocean between us. The low hum of the room's chatter drifted away as I faced the window again to watch the precipitation gently shower the passersby. They didn't seem to mind the rain as they hurried down the ancient cobblestones that lay in the shadows of a modern cityscape. To the patrons of the town it was just day to day life, but to me, it was literally a different world and a life I was simply borrowing for a few days. Just as I was getting lost in the buzzing of the city's people, I heard heavy footsteps climbing a set of creaky wooden stairs. The quintessence of a Bristolian, he was much taller than I imagined with his black apron wrapped around his chef whites. I could see the lines of black ink that traced his skin peeking out from folded sleeves. His smile was crooked but warm, and his eyes weren't the sky blue that I had seen on my computer screen. They were deeper. Cool and strong like steel. In that moment, my southern roots disregarded every social convention England possessed as I let out a squeal of elation and ran to my dear friend who was no longer a stream of light and sounds, but flesh and blood. He had always resided in my life as my pen pal, the secret entity that knew all my secrets. He was the friend I talked about but no one ever saw, and now I could feel the ghost solidify into a man under the weight of my arms. We spent the night immersing ourselves in warm embraces, laughter, and maybe a pint or two of his favorite cider. When we finally said our goodbyes, it didn't matter whether we were in Bristol or Mississippi. All that mattered was that two people, from two different walks of life, finally came together for one precious moment in time.