Saturday's Storyteller: High School Reunion
I drank a glass of weak Scotch at my high school reunion, and suddenly, I was hallucinating about drum circles and cigarette binges behind the old gym and make-out sessions in the locker room after badminton matches. We were all joined at the hip then - all so close that we may as well have been conjoined twins - so it didn't feel too different. Once I felt the urge to throw up, I went outside and sat at the gazebo set up for weddings by the hotel. This inn hadn't changed since I was at least ten, and now, almost twenty years later, the ivy had grown thick enough to serve as akin to a woolen coat in the winter time. I was almost tempted to sneak off for a pack of Camels, but my coughing fits had gotten worse recently, and I didn't want to risk a pulmonary embolism. Inside, my former peers were getting drunk, dancing, and showing their asses to the smartphone cameras. Meanwhile, my wife was probably worrying about me. I didn't care. I yearned for a better glass o