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It’s a Miracle We Survived High School
So many beers, so few brains
They knocked down my old high school last month. And now, every morning and every evening, I drive past the field where it used to stand.
High school wasn’t great, but it was better than junior high. Junior high was a nightmare from The Lord of the Flies, where I was tormented and bullied relentlessly by older kids.
Junior high was when Teresa Bickerstaff killed her entire family and set their house on fire.
Junior high was when Marvin Schultz, my boyfriend of exactly one day, shot his brother in the face over a pack of cigarettes.
Ronald Reagan was also shot, but it probably had nothing to do with my junior high.
No, not a lot of good memories from junior high.
High school, on the other hand, was when we all started drinking.
Alcohol made everything better, and as I remember it, high school was three straight years of partying. I must’ve gone to classes and studied too, and I was in marching band. But that was just more partying.
I’ll never get over the trauma of watching a trombone player and his flute-playing girlfriend swap chewing gum from one mouth to the other on the way to a competition.
