Tales From Suburbia: Reunions
When I first moved to B.C. at age 9 from Toronto, I found myself at Sperling Elementary School in North Burnaby. This was where I met a lovely and beautiful girl named Alissa, with whom I am friends with until today. Granted, we didn’t get along at first. I thought she was a whiny brat given her tendency to tell on me for swearing. I’m pretty sure she thought I was also a brat — one of the stuck-up Torontorian variety that was as crass and lewd as a 9-year-old could get. It took about a year for things to shape up and pave the way for years of hilarious adventures to come, as we weaved our way through the obstacles that our respective sets of over-protective parents had set for us. Secret trips to the convenient store to buys candies, chips, and slurpees in the cold of winter, not-so-solid alibis for riding in cars with boys, and pirating sex talk radio in the darkness of a basement; we made do.
Alissa, who has been living in Scotland pursuing a career in musical theatre, is back in town with a vengeance. She, like I, has given in to the bitter-sweet temptation of her parents lair; the endless supply of Costco products, the nonexistence of worrying if you’re going to run out of toilet paper, and the occasional tip-toe from one end of the house to the other in the middle of the night, worried to wake a parent.
Tonight, we reunite as adults, in an apartment quite familiar with our brand of debauchery. There’s likely to be reminiscing…and a lot of laughter. But hopefully the night won’t end with both of us puking, one in the toilet and one in the sink (and perhaps a third party in the bathtub) after making too many vodka cocktails. Because we’re grown-ups now, aren’t we?
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