High School: Reunion
Excolo High: Class of [handily obscured date] 10th Anniversary Reunion, hosted in the gymnasium, which has been tastefully decorated with flowers and balloons in the school colours. A DJ is on hand to play all those hits to remind you of your awkward high school days. And there's a bar. Thank God.
In the parking lot I check my hair in the mirror and sigh. Why am I here again? It's been years since I've been back to this shitty town. I suppose a bit of it's a fuck you - to the people who keyed my car in high school, to my dad for cutting me off when I was in college because I wouldn't "give up" being gay (not that I was poor; he couldn't touch my trust fund, but that's not the point). That's why I couldn't resist the outfit I saw on Vivienne Westwood's catwalk - the suit's nice enough, and the fruit t-shirt - well, that's a sly sort of dig, isn't it? Here I am, former classmates and teachers: I'm doing so much better than most of you. My interior design business broke its first million this year, and yes, I had good contacts, but I still built the company myself. And I can look at wallpaper swatches all day and nobody will complain. (Not that I'm thinking of Tez. Not that it matters if he shows up. It's been six years since we broke up, after all.)
I glance at my hair again. It's still strange, sometimes, having it cropped so short. It makes me look more severe. But when my hair grew back after chemo it was darker and coarser, and I didn't like it very much, so I've kept it short. At least it shows off my cheekbones. The hair and one testicle are souvenirs of my exciting voyage through cancerland. I like to think that three years on it doesn't show.
Okay. Time to get this show on the road.