That was the last weekend of my life. Of course I remember it. Like it was yesterday.
I had spent the week cramming; it was finals week. It was hell. I passed three OK, got lousy passing grades on four. But the one that I’d worried about—I somehow aced it.
I had cabin fever and I was ready to have some major release. We rented a movie with a fake ID, trekking back across the field and through the woods. We had some beer and some White Russians, bought with a similar strategy. We played strip poker. Lively night.
Damn woods, swamps. Damn mosquitoes.
I was designated driver. On reflection, that wasn’t the best of ideas.
I was mostly sober, but the mosquito didn’t know that.
Distraction. Alarm. No more Blue Mondays.
But the guys sometimes visit, it’s not that bad. At least I’ve got the stay-in crowd here. I just wish Simon Stimpson would shut up.
Nobody blames like an ex drunk, I guess.
At least Mom ain’t here.
But I’m proud of you, kid sister. All grown up, now engaged. Wish I could be there for that.