|
The Class of 1995(continued) By Vince Lowry Abe stumbles up to me and stares into my eyes, his nose a hair away
from my mine. Abe spills forward. I catch one armand Will catches the other, saving
Abe from doing a face plant. "Whoa!" Will says. "Ain't gonna cash our chips in jus'
yet, are we?" Startled, Abe shakes his head and manages to look sober enough to keep
from being tossed out. "Hey!" Will bellows, spotting a photographer. "Get a
picture of us, will ya?" The photographer nods indifferently. It's probably the sorriest group
of glory-day-boys he's seen, but that's why he's here: to take pictures
of yesterday's football, soccer, and track stars. Will huddles Peterman's brigade together (and I'm a part of it, whether
I like it or not). But it doesn't stop there. Two girls see us and join
in. The girls soon flag three friends, their nametags reading Gina,
Kay, and Lucas. And these friends, in turn, wave even more friends in. Before long, it seems half the ballroom is crowded in front of the
photographer… with me smack in the center. It's my fault, I guess.
It was my stupid idea to wonder into this place after reading the signs
in the hotel lobby. Sure, I had graduated in 1995 but my team wasn't
the Angels; ironically, it was the Devils. I attended Roosevelt High,
some two thousand miles from Lake Hill High, the institution responsible
for this gathering. I've never met Will, Timmy T., Lew or Coach Peterman
in my life. I have no idea what senior prank night is, although it sounds
like fun (my school was too strict to tolerate such nonsense: part of
the reason I skipped my reunion two months ago). "Okay, on three give a big shout-out to the Angels," says
the photographer, positioning his camera. "One…two…" As I scream "Angels!" with the rest of the alums, I recall
my encounter with Mr. Eskimo-kisses. How can Abe, the highest bird in
the cage, be the only person to grasp my secret? Right now, the guy
couldn't be trusted to drive a lawnmower, much less a car, and yet he
plainly stated the obvious. That I was a stranger. That I had no earthly business showing my ugly mug in their group picture, which would undoubtedly wind up inside photo albums, in wall frames, or — if I was lucky enough! — right on top of my favorite coach's desk. To Peterman ~ Class of 1995 10-Year Reunion
|
