School Story:
I'm still thankful I wasn't voted "most talkative," given the amount of stuff I'm about to type:
I have an oddly specific memory of random details about high school -- Marty's Bocephus t-shirt, Craig's Navy sweatshirt, the Altoid mints in Mrs. West's drawer, the smell of the football bus on away games when there weren't enough fans for a fan bus, the way the letters would get scrunched together at the end of every "Declaw the Panthers" poster I made, the walk to Mrs. Burgher's class and the hope to pass my older boyfriend on the way, the exact number of minutes it took to fix my hair and get to Nichole's house so we all load into my pizza-smelling Plymouth Champ and get to the floodwall, filling 10 trash bags of empty wine coolers and beer cans before Mom came back the day after a party, the itch of cheerleader tights, waking up to room full twisted bodies at "slumber parties" at Chris,' the sound of the eight-track in Steve Krider's car, every word to every cheer, the Gun Club bonfires, combat boots and fishnet pantyhose procurement for MASH, the feel of cheap toilet paper on dewy grass and shaving cream on my balcony door, and all of you.
