They’re out now, the lot of them. Out-of-towners who drove five hours to celebrate with one of their own. People I haven’t seen in years. Seven maybe? God, I feel old. I’ve known a few of them since grade three.
But bar hopping isn’t my scene. There’s also this dull, nagging headache from staying up yesterday into the early morning. Catching up like old times. I’m reminded of the sleepovers. Summers putting on plays and learning how to make piñatas at Camp Creative. Catching minnows and crayfish in the streams back home.
I’m a different person now though. I was a different person from them then even. I never really fit in the group.
Sometimes I look at the pictures of their trips and events and I think to myself, “I wish I was more social. I wish I had more memories.”
I have to hermitize or I get overstimulated. It took me until my early twenties to come out of my shell. Then I think of the parties I’ve been to, the times I’ve had, the pictures I’ve taken, and realize that I do have memories.
I have enough.
I have my own.