The Class of 1995

By Vince Lowry

I'm a bit nervous as I stride into a ballroom packed with kids who are too old to be making out in the back of a theater and too young to worry about menopause, life insurance or their 401(k)'s. My heart hammers inside my chest. I don't recognize a single face, and they, in turn, don't appear to know me.

It isn't long before someone named Will approaches and shakes my hand.

"Greg," he says, eyeing my nametag with all the grace and subtlety of a rum-filled sailor. "Greg Stevens."

"Yeah. We know each other?"

Will gives me a thick smile. His jowls jiggle like pudding (a dessert, I'm sure, he's tasted many times, given his fleshy arms and bloated belly).

"You were in my freshman PE class, weren't you? That quiet guy. Sat right next to Coach Peterman's office in the locker room."

"Coach Peterman?" I ask.

Will throws his arm over my shoulders and exhales a laugh that reeks of pretzels and cheap beer.

"Wasn't Peterman a trip, man? The way he'd make us run around the track all morning? Do all those crazy pushups?"

I shrug, suddenly realizing that I've been initiated into Will's buddy club.

"Lew! Timmy T.," Will calls to a nearby group huddled around a trestle-table laden with hors d'oeuvres, chips, dip and chopped veggies.

Timmy T. and Lew turn, along another guy whose nametag reads Abraham Klein.

"Found another one of Peterman's lost soldiers, boys. We're gonna round up the whole brigade tonight."

Somehow, these three gentlemen make Will seem like the night's designated driver. Lew and Timmy T. have their cheeks stuffed with potato chips, both stoned out of their minds. Abe practically tips the table over in a drunken stagger when he trips and uses it to balance himself.

"Heeey!" Timmy T. says with a big crescent grin. "Hooow's it goin', man?"

"Hey," I shoot back, noting his bloodshot eyes.

"Peterman…" Lew says, reflecting on the name for a minute, soaking it in, then erupting in laughter. "Friggin' Peter-man…"

"You guys remember senior prank night?" Will asks. "Locking Peterman in the gym?"

"When we used Freddie's bus to block the front door," Timmy T. adds, still holding his crescent grin. "Yeah, maaan. That was a riot."

Will laughs. "We made this whole school one big parking lot. By the cafeteria. Behind the library. Our cars were everywhere."