Tomorrow I’m off to Alabama with my banjo on my knee and my ipod at my hip, Birmingham Tuxedo Junction bound for my 20th high school reunion. I looked at my high school yearbook today, at the photos that I took of my buddies, and realized that I’ve carried around images of these people for 20 years that haven’t changed. They’re frozen in 1984. Friday night my sweet innocent young friends, untouched by time or pain or careers or loss will suddenly be replaced forever with fat, successful, balding, graying, complacent, bitter, middle-aged people with kids and families and lives and pasts that happened long after my history with them. They’ll instantly become richer, complete characters, but total strangers whom I once loved and dreamed with. The pictures that I take of them now will perhaps add dimension and complexity, but I’m feeling a tremendous sadness at having to amend what was such a perfect moment in time–like watching a sequel to Casablanca.
Tales of Post-Twinkie Ennui