John asks: "You don't remember Miss Louie, really, how could you forget? Grade 9 Science teacher, how we laughed because of her hairy armpits, and I sat in the desk in front of you, don't you remember that, how we laughed at Miss Louie?"
I don't remember any of that. I don't even remember Grade 9. But the worst part is that I don't even remember being friends with John. I mean, it's not like we hung out or anything. Fact is, my memories of high school, even with kids I've known since elementary school, are blurry. Oddly enough, I remember names and can even see their youthful reflections buried deep within leathered skin and swollen bodies.
We are all rats, and we are all turning 50.
I remember the years through the music and only a few kids in high school liked Patti Smith, but I remember me and close pals thinking she was the hottest, coolest chick around and how cool it would be to be just like her.
Like New York and CBGB's.
