I.

I used to live in Seattle.
I want to say it was a great town.
Fine, it was okay.
Would you believe we tolerated each other?

I wanted to say I had fond memories: my school was great. I had friends and what someone from the south would say was cold, rainy and melancholy day was wonderful feeling. I loved rainy days. The cloudier, the better. You want to see Mt Rainer? Drive to it then, for I was content with the grey sky over my head.
So, yeah, if clouds and dreariness brought me happiness, what could possibly bring me down?
You get three chances and the first two do no count.
Yeah, it’s about a girl.
Ain’t it always?
We didn’t get together. In fact, I’m sure we only spoke, maybe, once, and that was on the last day of school. She said “You’re going to be a loser your whole life…”
She said this from the stage, in her valediction speech and pointed at me.
No, not in my general direction and not to the people around me as I recall blinking and scowling my face.
“. ..Christopher Riley.”
Being placed on the spot like that—considering we never talked to one another—and bestowing a scarlet “L” on my neck for everyone to observe again and again, as there were several parents recording the ceremony.
Twenty years later and there I was driving back to the Pacific Northwest for a class reunion. I had not put a lot of thought on what I would say to former friends and..her. Would everyone still remember her speech? I mean up to that extremely cheap shot taken at my expense, it was a motivational speech that would have been a hit at any Amway distributor team rally.
The reunion was going to be held at a hotel in the heart of the Emerald City. I had booked a room on the top floor. I wouldn’t say it was the penthouse suite, but it was stately enough that if I wanted to forgo the reunion, I could have my own.
Maybe I could reminisce with my old friends and teachers and we could go back and forth about how we’ve all changed, evolved, grown and allowed ourselves to fall away and those people—and maybe anyone else who felt out of place—would leave to a lighter, mellow soirée.
I stopped in front of a prestigious hotel as a valet walked over and assisted with my bags. He then drove my car down the block and into the garage. I had packed light with only a suitcase and a satchel.
The hotel lobby looked like the reunion committee could have rented out Lumen Field and saved a lot of money, I mean, football was king at school, so that would have made a lot more sense than the svelte locale they had chosen instead.
I walked to the table on the side—a table that looked like it was worth as much as my car with its ornate design and crystal-decked top.
“Welcome to the Roosevelt High Class of 1999 Reunion. May I have your name please, miss?
“Keri Riley.”

The older woman—who I do not believe I had ever met—moved her hands across the various badges, picked one up and handed it to me.
“Did your brother attend Roosevelt? I could have sworn I remembered a Chris Riley in my English class.”
“I have a sister, no brothers, sorry,” I replied as I looked at the “Nirvana”-inspired tag: complete with a mural of something that looked like a baby swimming. I had to wonder who designed it so I could tell them to stop.
“Mmm. Must be my memory. Well, you’re one of the first to arrive. Have a good time at the reunion.”
“Thank you.”
I took a short detour from the hallway to the reunion and, instead went to the front desk and checked-in.

In a few minutes I had my room card and took a ride on the hotel’s glass elevator. There was a small crowd converging on the floor near the reunion table. I assumed it to be a mess of football players, all high fiving themselves and getting ready to reminiscence about past games of glory. The elevator stopped one the fourteenth floor and I stepped out to a small hallway and to my room, which was right across from the elevator.

The room was nice, not as much as some of the international locations I had been to, but it would do for the night. I hoped the bed was comfortable and when I hoisted my small suitcase onto the bed, and it landed with a non-reassuring thud. I would have to remember to ask for a few extra pillows.

I looked out the window for a second and then closed my eyes.
“What are we doing here?” I asked myself.

High school was a mess for me. My first day at school was marred by a run-in with Anthony Jenkins, one of the esteemed members of the Roosevelt High School Rangers. He slammed into me—because he was not watching where he was going—and blamed me for a tear in his jacket. He wanted me to pay fifty dollars to have it repaired. I didn’t want any trouble, so I gave him the requested amount. You’d think he’d be satisfied: he got four times the worth of said jacket. Alas, it pissed him off. I think he wanted me to grovel and plead as his personal “Olive Twist” and my willingness to pay for the damage--which I did not cause--angered him, as he couldn’t launch his male bravado on the new kid without looking like an idiot in front of the small mob that had formed around us.

He gave me an idle threat and then walked away. The mob dispersed, some of them upset a round of “Mortal Kombat: High School Edition” failed to take place.
“That was pretty brave,” a voice behind me said.
I turned to see a rather stout, but short guy who had picked up the things that had dropped out of my hand. “Thanks. My name’s Chris.”
“Daniel. Some call me Danny.”
“What do you prefer?”
“Daniel, I prefer it over Danny, it kind of has a “it’s not really me” vibe to it.
“I know the feeling.”
“Welcome to Roosevelt.” Daniel replied as he handed me back my gear.
“Kind of feel I got the unwelcome to Roosevelt treatment.”
“Tony, yeah, he’s like the people who brake-check you and then say it’s your fault.”
“Do they sell Tony insurance somewhere?”
“We wish. So, who’s your first class with?”
“Biology, with,” I squinted at my class list that was now crumpled up, “a Doctor…oh that can’t be right, Spock?”
“Sprock. That’s my first block course too. Just don’t Vulcan salute him and you’ll get along with him.”
“Fascinating,”