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coming of age The call came around eleven o'clock. Which is late enough to be a worrisome call. "Aren't you guys coming to the Peppermill?" Ummm, no. Technically, we weren't invited. And we would only put a damper on the party. But the caller, who is closer to our age than most of the rest of the celebrants, was undeterred. And insisted on making the same invitation to the wife. Who gave pretty much the same answer. We heard the laughter outside on the street a little before two o'clock in the morning. Pleasant, almost joyous. But a little too loud, and a little too spontaneous. By three o'clock the same voice was in our living room, almost pleading... "I need a bowl, I'm gonna throw up!" We worry about alcohol toxicity... just how much past the throwing up stage do we have to worry? And we smile in bed in the darkness, each with our own remembrances of college days, and drunken roommates. This, too, will pass. |
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