I was walking through the Duane Reade at the PATH station recently, much like I do on my way home at least one or two night per week. As I was standing in the chips aisle, weighing my dinner options, I recognized the guy standing near me. For a few seconds, though, I couldn’t remember his name, so, of course, I had to keep staring at him, as if that would help. He, of course, looked nervous.
Finally, I said his name and then quickly followed with my own. And then we stood in the aisle for 30 minutes catching up on the past 20 years. Jack, as I’ll call him now, grew up in the same neighborhood as me – we played on the same soccer team, took the same bus to school, and his father was one of my high school teachers. And the last time I had seen Jack was in high school. And odd for two Facebook friends, we had no idea that he works a block from my apartment in Jersey City. Just shows how close Facebook friends can be.
What was funny, in retrospect, and we’ve since met for dinner, was what we spent recalling from our last high school weeks: stories of how dumb and immature we were.
I recalled my various ruses for sneaking out of the house to go to parties. He asked me if I remembered the time I “saved his life.” Apparently, he had drank way too much at a party and, unable to find his ride, decided to walk home. Somewhere along the highway, he passed out into some bushes. And as only he recalls, I found him there and drove him home.
It’s not that it was unlikely that I would do that. In high school, I recognized that I was lucky enough to have my own car, even as crappy as that car was, and so I often gave rides to people. And if I saw someone I recognized in trouble, I would stop. But as much as may have done a good deed, I had to admit to him that given my lack of memory around the event, chances are I was probably coming home from a party myself. And probably shouldn’t have been driving.
Knowing what I did then, and what kids I knew were doing worse, I really don’t how parents have teenage kids and not die of stress-induced angina.
And I’d like to say I’ve outgrown all that, but I did fall asleep on the train while coming home from a party a few weeks ago. But I’m no longer drinking and driving, which is at least a step in the right direction.
Image: By polomex
