I didn't go to my high school reunion. It wasn't a deliberate snub. I had just moved to Scotland a few weeks beforehand, and it seemed like a pretty superfluous trip back. The pictures and stories were enough. (My favorite was Big Wang offering to kill Mike for Emily... and Wang's wife, nodding her support for the plan.) Plus, the age of social media pretty much mitigates that mixture of curiosity and velleity about peripheral classmates.
The funny thing about that, and about my entire attitude about my childhood in Vegas, the people I grew up with, etc, is that as little credit as I gave them, as much distance as I've often tried to put between myself and them, they're still the people that require the least amount of explanation from me. The comfort level is intensely cosy.
Last night was a kind of representative high school reunion for me in a more important way. Only a few of the key players were there actually. They were good ones though. And the build up was full of many more: from Emily, to a phone call from Brandon (on his way to state execution, natch!) to some digging in my high school boxes. More than that, I was reunited with the way I felt when I was seventeen or eighteen. Thanks to these friends, for sure. But also because we were at Jimmy Eat World. As Petie and I screamed lyrics at each other, I remembered how hopeful I felt then and I felt it again.
Oh, our youthful loves. They die hard, don't they?