Will It matter At All?
‘Can’t come- too many babies.’
‘Have a drink for me! Wish I could make it.’
But you go- it’s been ten years and you’ve kept up with everyone you liked, but you go anyway.
They all group at once, as always.
Those really are the only groups.
You are all a quilt with only two colors, sewn together by the Socially Popular: those who can transcend all perceived barriers with conversation.
You could be one of them- you are different than you were in high school.
Your job is to talk to people- you can talk to anyone.
Now anyway, but never back then when these folks knew you.
Everyone’s-first-crush takes pictures.
Someone made a cake.
Beer flows like blood through everyone’s veins.
Of course there is venison- this is the country after all. You're in a barn and outside, all around are stars and November darkness.
Lots of eye contact made and avoided.
Lots of familiar faces and names lost in indifference.
But, in the end, you don’t hate it. Not as much as some people will when they wake up the next morning.
You sort of wish you had talked more.
You wish Zack had recited the Raven.
You wish you’d eaten more venison.
Mostly, you wish you’d talked, tried a little harder. As always.
But in ten more years, will it matter at all?