Ray and I got home from my reunion last Sunday. During the ten hour drive, I had time to ponder the weekend’s events. I assume most reunions have people sitting around talking about the winning touchdown at the big game, making the cheerleading squad (or doing the cheerleading squad) and that one time you went to detention for ditching class. We all sat around talking about that time we swallowed a handful of black beauties, smoked a dime bag and stole someone’s car to go into Hollywood for the night.
I don’t want to go back to those times. I lived in fear everyone would all find out that I was gay (yeah, I know, they all knew) and I’d get my ass kicked. Getting your ass kicked in school is a scary reality for everyone who’s ever been in high school except at my school, it meant an ass kicking from someone with an existing criminal record who was really bad—like fucked up psychologically bad. What the hell was I doing at that school?
I left the reunion abruptly.
You can’t change where you’re from but you can sure change where you’re going.