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by Rix Quinn

     The old guy in the grocery line looked about two coughing spells away from the Promised Land. Gnarled and unshaven, he mumbled to himself while the clerk totaled his bill.

     He noticed me as he reached into his pocket for change, and accidentally pulled out a set of teeth.

     “Hey,” he smiled, “remember me? I’m George, from biology class!”

     Suddenly, I did remember. Back in tenth grade, we dissected the same frog. Disgusting!

     George never comes to our high school reunions. That’s too bad, because he could make the rest of us feel lots younger.

     My friend Ray was mascot at his school, and he wears a silly hornet outfit to every class gathering. On his drive there last year, he got pulled over…and it’s hard to walk a straight line if you can’t control your stinger.

     He got to the party late, then made the entrance only a middle-aged pot-bellied hornet can. Across the room, he noticed Mollie.

     She was a former cheerleader, and she remembered Ray immediately. And she looked great to Ray, whose glasses fit sort of funny on a hornet mask.

     Funny how fast time flies. Just when we understand school, we graduate. When we finally learn to comb our hair right, it falls out. And when we get our act together, there’s no old friends around to watch the performance.

     But reunions reconnect us with our roots…and roots remind us of our natural hair color. Ray and I both recommend them…if you don’t dress like an insect.

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