As is true of most consequential stranger relationships, Reggie and I couldn’t be more different. He’s Sikh and a successful businessman who recently cashed out his share of a chain of 7-11′s on Long Island. I am a Jew, a writer, foodie–and his patron. We both love Fire Island, although we know it from different vantage points. We hug at the beginning of the season when we first see each other and when I leave. Most years, before I arrive, I email him to remind him to get “my” milk. If I don’t, his first words are usually, “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

I know I can count on Reggie, and I think he feels the same way about me–why else would I go out of my way to put a good word in for him with a guy in another Fire Island town whose grocery store Reggie would like to buy?  Truth be told, I didn’t do it just for Reggie. Thirty years ago, I lived in that town with my (then) husband; my kids grew up there.  Now my grandchildren are spending time there, and I liked the idea of my daughter connecting with Reggie, too.

This is the kind of guy Reggie is: When I forget to bring printer paper to the island and ask if he sells it, he disappears into the back and returns with an unopened ream of paper. Before I even get a chance to ask the price he says, “Use what you need, and return whatever’s left when you leave.”

A few days later, when the freezer breaks down in the house I’ve rented for the last several years, I call and he doesn’t hesitate when ask if I can put some meat and frozen food–into his walk-in freezer until it’s fixed. He knows I’m referring to groceries bought off island, not from him. Even as I offter to pay, explaining that it would be like the “cork fee” restaurants charge when you bring your own bottle, I know that Reggie wouldn’t dream of taking it.  Sure, I spend plenty of money in the store–I want him to stay in business–but when Reggie tells me, “You know I’d do anything for you,” I don’t think it’s about the tab I run up every summer.

I love Reggie, in the manner of love reserved for certain consequential strangers. He’s an anchor for me in this town. And in small increments we keep getting “closer”–a word I don’t like to use to describe relationships, because it sets up a false dichotomy–you’re either close with someone or not. That doesn’t begin to capture the complexity of our social lives. I suggest, instead, the word meaningful. Relationships have different magnitudes of meaning, defined, in part, by disclosure. Each little tidbit of knowing about the other person makes the relationship more meaningful.

Today, as I was on my way out of the store–this now a few days after I met Minnie, Reggie’s wife–Reggie said to me off-handedly, “Hey, you missed my daughter. She was in yesterday.”

“How old is she?” I ask, hoping he hadn’t told me before. Sometimes when I ask a person a question, it’ more about the engagement of the moment, and I forget to pay attention to the answer. For example, I think I once asked Reg where’s he’s from–India or Pakistan–and I think he said “India,” and maybe even told me the city, but I don’t know for sure.  And now, how can I ask? But that’s another story.

“Eleven,” he said, and I tried to imagine the eleven-year-old daughter of Minnie and Reggie.

“I’m so sorry I missed her,” I said, meaning it. “I’ll make sure I bring my daughter in to meet you.” Then, I hesitated, and added, “Or did you meet her last time she was here?”

“No,” said Reg, putting my memory to shame. “Just your son.”

As long as I keep coming to Fire Island, Reggie and I will have a relationship. It is of this place only, but it is important to me. We may get to know more about each other in the coming seasons, but we probably we always remain the best of consequential strangers.

***

Note: Readers and interviewers frequently ask, “How do you know whether a person is a consequential stranger or a friend?” I’m with Supreme Court Justice Potter on this one. He was referring to pornography, but you could just as easily substitute the word “friend” here: “I know it when I see it.” If you’re in doubt, apply this unabashedly unscientific test to a relationship you’re not sure about.

And by the way, it doesn’t matter what you call someone as long as you honor the relationship, no matter how minor a role that person plays in the drama of your life.

Scoring:
As you probably guessed, the A statements are more likely to relate to consequential strangers, the B statements to your intimates.  However, all relationships span a continuum from complete stranger to soul mate. Although one “territory” blends into the next, and relationships can change over time, these statements can help you approximate where each person might fall on your own continuum.

More than 17 B’s: The person is somewhere near the soul mate side of your continuum–-a partner, parent, child, or close friend who is part of your inner circles.

5-7 A’s and 13-15 B’s: The person is in friend territory but not necessarily part of your inner circle.

10 A’s and 10 B’s:   The person is in the grey zone between consequential stranger and friend, perhaps someone who started out as an acquaintance and is now moving along the continuum toward the friend end, or an acquaintance who was once important and is now less so. It also might be someone you’ve known for a long time or see fairly often but who doesn’t qualify as a close friend.

13-15 A’s and 5-7 B’s: The person is a close consequential stranger, an acquaintance you associate with a particular place or activity.  You might use the label a “friend,”  but the relationship is probably based on a particular aspect of your life–your work, leisure pursuits, volunteer work.   You might even spend a considerable amount of time together, but the person is on the periphery of your social life not at its center.

17 or more A’s: The person is probably in solid consequential stranger territory–one of those wash-and-wear relationships that requires very little maintenance.