It was eleven on the west coast, making it one a.m. at home and two a.m. on the east coast. I had finished the two books I brought along for the trip and most of my friends were either settled down for the night or still out at noisy clubs. As such, I did the last of my work for the weekend, sent a few personal e-mails and found myself in one of those uncomfortable circumstances where I had nothing to do. The airport was virtually empty so there wasn’t even a chance to do proper people watching; thus began the waiting game.

After several late night, damned text messages bleeping on people’s bedside tables, I found one warm body, luckily, awake and willing to help me pass the time text message by text message.

I met Todd on a Thursday night at a bar about two years ago. He was one of the brave guys who was actually willing to step up to the plate and demonstrate his dancing skills by becoming my dance partner for the night. We went out a couple of times, but for a lot of reasons, including bad timing (I was considering a move to California), it didn’t work out between us. There were no hard feelings, it seems and all of that withstanding, we have stayed in contact on a regular basis…in our own way.

I haven’t heard his voice in about a year and a half, but like clockwork I can expect a “Happy Hump Day!” text message from him, or a check-in after the weekend; birthday greetings are typically shared; and he knows secrets that I have not told anyone else. (I also believe that he is a faithful reader of this column.) All in all, I believe not a week has passed in the last 18 months where I have not received at least one text message from Todd.

So there I found myself, plugged into the sole outlet in my gate area, text messaging a man I was once romantically interested in while his girlfriend was asleep in the other room with a migraine. Whether hundreds of miles away or just down the street, it makes no difference. Our friendship is patient and kind; it is not boastful or demanding; it is not arrogant or rude; our friendship just is.

I cannot point to a moment in time where we went from verbal conversations to no more than four lines of text at a time; or if the choice was even a conscious one. But however it happened between us, it seems to work as – at the least – a friendly voice in the night. Perhaps the comfort of our relationship comes to us via the anonymity, the facelessness of our communications.

Whatever the reason may be, I don’t think about it much. But I do appreciate our friendship, or our version of our friendship. In particular, it was nice to have the company while I fought off Wyken, Blynken and Nod , while I waited to go home.

• "A Single Serving" appears second and fourth Mondays every month, exclusively in Lumino Magazine. E-mail Melissa at m.koss@yahoo.com. Photo of Melissa by Anne Coloso.

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