After a brief encounter with a warm Italian family, we were led down the wooden steps into a cold, ugly basement. The centerpiece of this bunker was a couch. One of those "vintage" 70's pieces. Bold and ugly.
Red cups on the table. "Want something to drink? We got...orange, coke, diet coke..." "Nah, I'm good, thanks."
I looked over and saw the other one holding a rectangular piece of glass over his head like a trophy.
"I found a new way to open the window!" I could see Possibility stretching his features. "Bigger bottles..."
He gingerly guided Peach Shnapps through the window. She smiled at me, but I pretended that she wasn't there.
I remember a time when I wanted to be something like that. Popular, life of the party. Those elementary days have passed, and I've seen where that path leads to. It's not as sweet as it seems.
As she made her way around the room, I lowered my head. I heard a noise, and turned. In front of a prominent wine collection sat paper remains from Bartles & Jaymes that fell from its nest near the ceiling.
She decided that she wanted to leave and get dessert, so naturally, we followed suit. As I emerged from the cement container, I was welcomed into the family again. An orange glow filled the room, and I spotted four oversized loaves of bread snuggled by each other on a countertop.
Leaving the house, I looked back and said goodbye to the family.
I didn't join them for dessert. Partially by choice, partially by my family's wishes. I hopped into my beloved Blazer, and on that solitary drive home I thought, "So this is high school."