“Do you remember that girl, Marisa?”, was how the conversation began.
How could I not? She was the cute one who sat behind me in Latin class in high school.
I tried to make her laugh. “Latin is a dead language/ as dead as it can be/ First it killed the Romans/ and now it’s killing me”.
That was what passed for comedy in those hallowed days. That episode inspired me to pull my high school yearbook out of its musty home at the bottom of a trunk and flip through its pages. “Hey, bud, you’re the best! Love ya!”
The pages in my yearbook are filled with grimace inducing pictures of our awkward adolescent selves, bad haircuts, cryptic references, best friends, and roller coaster loves and hates.
Oh yes, our loves were epic!
Let the eye-rolling begin.
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