let’s have bizarre celebrations

“Dewar’s and soda please.”
The bartender must’ve known something I didn’t, because what she gave me was more like scotch and a splash. I was grateful to have it as I bounced like a pinball around a courtyard crowded with people, most of whom I hadn’t seen in 10 years. Any cause for my nearly frayed nerves soon subsided, and we traded greetings like “it’s so good to see you,” and meant it. We got into catching-up conversations, none of which we could finish without being interrupted by someone new and starting again. We laughed at the absurdity of it all, worried we wouldn’t recognize each other but relieved to find that no one had changed too much. It wasn’t that we all were friends back then, but we had shared this singular, intense experience of pleasing our parents and teachers, finding the right college, doing the right thing that goes with every high school but was magnified at this small prep school in a pristine Florida city. For one bizarre, blissful night, it didn’t even matter, really, what we were up to, whether we had married, bought a condo, etc. We were just happy to be there, again.

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