There it is again.
The notice of the annual all 1960’s class reunion.
A reminder of about the most unhappy year of my entire existence.
I don’t know how they tracked me down for the invite, but Connie whose name I do remember, but whose face I don’t, sent the notice, and all of the pain of that year flooded in on me as I remembered events that I had no control over overwhelmed and shamed me.
It isn’t like I had committed some unpardonable act or anything, but I just gave up on school and my hometown. All I had left was a bad attitude and an even worse reputation, and all I wanted was to be gone. Anywhere. And so a few short months before graduation, I quit. Just like that. Walked away.
Some time later I returned to Alamosa to go to college, but frankly, academia and I have no love for each other, so once again in my sophomore year I cut and ran, never to return.
I found peace much later in life in religion and a second marriage. But at odd moments like this the old days rise up to disturb my little utopia out in the Texas pampas …