I’m sitting on a leather couch in the waiting area of a rather high-class law firm in Columbus. It’s only the third floor but the view out the window to the Chattahoochee River puts the water right below me across the street. I’m early for a 4:00 appointment.

There’re two kayakers playing in the flow below the rapids. One red, one green. Bright yellow vests. They move over into the eddy beside a huge boulder to rest and then move back out into the flow. They’re not going anywhere. Just back and forth. It’s more like they are performing for a guy in blue jeans behind the office building window. Only, they could care less about having an audience.

I’m here to meet Wayne, a name which I’ve only known via email for the last five months and whose voice I’ve never heard over the phone. I don’t like doing faceless business, but this is how is seems things get done these days. He offered to do everything over the computer.

“We can take electronic signatures and you won’t even have to come to the office,” he said.

I declined. I like to meet the people who get this up-close and intimate with my personal affairs. And if I have to pay him a large sum of money for doing so, then by-God I want to look him in the eye and shake his hand.

The kayaks are side by side now, holding a paddle between them to lock them together. Like cop cars resting beside the road, one facing one way and the other right next to it facing the other direction. I bet they’re not discussing legal fees.

It’s funny how you picture someone you’ve never met. You pull information from clues that your subconscious gathers without you even thinking about it.

For example. There are about 14 names on the wall in this lobby that make up the name of this law firm, and my lawyer’s name is not one of them. I noticed that from the footer in his emails, too. Junior associate, maybe. Naw. Too inexperienced for handling a corporate transfer by himself. I’m guessing a guy with tenure, maybe a junior partner but not high enough up the chain to have his name on the wall.

I see him in my mind as 40 something with a full head of hair. A nice dark suit.

The elevator dings. I hear Cory’s voice before I see him. He speaks to the receptionist before he sees me. I stand so we can shake hands.

“Is it hot and sweaty outside?” I’m goading him because I know he’s been on the operating end of a chainsaw most of the day.

It’s only been a week since I packed my bags and left the company but somehow it already feels much longer. I guess because I had part ownership in the business, it doesn’t feel as much like vacation as everyone said it would. It does a little bit. There’s also a sense of disconnect and detachment which is usually followed by a strong sense of relief and rest.

The kayakers are still paddling against the current, then sitting idle in the eddy. Playfully enjoying the tension and release.

That’s me. Tension and release.

A very well dressed and professional looking lady comes out to the lobby to greet us and take us back to a conference room.

“Hi. I’m Jill,” she says.

Inside the room there’s a table with a half-dozen piles of documents neatly stacked and lined up against the edge.

“Would you gentlemen like a cup of coffee, or maybe a bottle of cold water?”

My throat is dry as dust. “Water, please.”

Before we can take a seat, Wayne walks in. He’s certainly over 40. Maybe 35 years over forty. I hate it when I’m dead wrong about things. I’m guessing that he is not “junior” to anyone. He does have a full head of salt and pepper hair.

Quickly, he gave us a pretty good idea of how he would handle things from the start.

“Gentlemen, I’ll have you know up front that I failed two things in law school. Ethics and paper shuffling. But I promise not to do you wrong if you promise to be patient with my disorganization.”

Changing a business shouldn’t be this complicated. I get it that a handshake is not sufficient. Too many regulations. Too many government hands involved. We sent papers and signatures in circles on a pinwheel around that table for the better part of 90 minutes. Some of that was Wayne shuffling piles, digging and digging again trying to find the right paper. He wasn’t lying.

At the end of the table, Jill sat confidently playing her role as a witness to the many signatures. She would leave the room to change a line on a document or to go find something he couldn’t put his hands on.

One time, he asked her to go make and collate copies front and back. A small handful of important looking papers. She was back so quick that he wanted to know what she had forgotten.

“Nothing.”

“Well, did you have a question?” he asked her. “You’re back so soon.”

“No. These are done.” And she handed him the papers

We all got up from the table with thick envelopes to take home, the contents of which signify a major shift in both our lives. The river is changing. And like two kayaks working in tandem, we’re about to move out into different currents and go our separate ways downstream.

We get on the elevator. Push button #1.

“Did you get all that?”

“Not everything.”

“How many papers does a guy have to sign?”

“Apparently, a whole bunch.”

We walk out into the courtyard beyond the front doors. Small chat about work. Catching up on where things stand in regard to scheduling and workload.

“Man, you still got two days left on that job. I’ll bet you’ll be glad when you get done.” I say it like I still have a dog in that hunt.

We shake hands and congratulate ourselves for a moment. 21 and a half years as partners. That’s nothing to sneeze at.

We have one more thing to do together. There’s a title transfer that needs to be done at the county courthouse. There’s a couple of quirks to it, so we’re not sure exactly how it will go down or if we both should be there. We agree it might be cleaner if we handle it together.

“What day you want to go?” I’m asking because I know I can be flexible.

“Not tomorrow. Let’s do something in the later half of next week.”

“Sure. That suits me.”

I thought for a moment.

“You just let me know what day works.” This is where I got kind of cocky. “My . . . uh . . . schedule is . . . ah . . . pretty wide open.”

“Shut up,” he said behind narrow eyes.

It was a good walk back to my truck.

The kayakers were gone, and the river flowed unto itself alone.