A friend of mine from high school lived across the street from me. Once a month or so we’d end up on the same subway car and kill the 40 minutes between 207th st and 59th st rehashing old high school stories and exchanging latest news on our mutual friends. He was the point guard and captain of the basketball team and I inherited those titles after he graduated even though only he bore the burden of actually being good at basketball. So we always had topics to cover.
I have tons of chances to reminisce over college experiences. My wife was in my graduating class. But high school has slipped away almost completely. When my friend moved, I realized this was probably one of my last chances to hear these stories.
One day, we were chatting and the third person in our A Train three-seater perked up and said, “I went to that high school too.” She was a few years younger than us, but she knew some of the people we knew.
And then I didn’t know what to do. Was she now in on the conversation? We had over 100 blocks to go – and, after a few niceties I just kind of settled back into the previous exchange. Now I feel guilty, like I should have included her more. But those few years of space made her just about as alien as everyone else on the train.
[Photo Credit: Infectedwithrage]