My Former Self Read Free Page A

this wait excruciating.
    Finally, I am next to order. Unfortunately, I know the barista who will be serving me. Her name is Tasha. We went to high school together. We never hung out in the same circles, so now we just pretend that we don’t know each other. She looks at least ten years older than I do—at least I hope I don’t look her age. She was quiet and plain in high school. I don’t think she ever went toone party that I did, if she even went out at all. I find it strange that our lives are now connected in this small way after so many years. There are not many people from high school that I see nowadays, and her presence gives me a queer feeling. I am sure she remembers me, but she doesn’t let on that she does. I guess that is what people tend to do to avoid awkward conversations.
    “Hi, a vanilla bean latte, extra hot, skim milk, please?” I try to sound chipper, although I feel anything but this morning.
    “No problem.” And within five minutes I am out the door and off to work.
    As I am walking on Bank Street, a car stopped at the red light catches my eye. When I look at the driver, I can’t help but reminisce. The driver has to be in her teens and the others in the car with her are roughly the same age. They are laughing and talking. Maybe it’s because I just saw Tasha, but I’m reminded of my early high school years, and the times when I’d be driving somewhere with Greg or Kaitlyn. We just had fun being young and innocent. We laughed about nothing, but it’s the simplicity that I fondly remember. Although the people in this car are strangers to me, they remind me of the feelings of carelessness which we used to possess. Then, we wanted to be older and more mature. Now, I’d give anything to be back in those days without a carein the world. But reality sets in and I am here walking alone, carrying a coffee, and heading to work.
    Luckily, my extra hot latte stays that way until I arrive at work, where I sit and enjoy it before the office is open to the public. I am the first to arrive, as usual, and I enjoy the time alone.
    Next to come in is Cindy. It looks like she didn’t get to bed until late, and seeing that, I am even more thankful that I decided not to join them last night. If I had gone to bed late and been up early, this day would seem like an eternity. I try not to let her know that she looks exhausted. She cares a great deal about her appearance and preens throughout the day. I once heard her say that she pays over two hundred dollars at the hair salon every few months. I spend a total of ten dollars for a box of hair colour, and I can’t imagine spending that kind of money on my hair.
    “Morning, Ton. I’m really tired. I didn’t get to bed until two thirty, and I had so many drinks that my sleep wasn’t very restful. We had a good time, though. You would’ve had a blast.”
    I doubt that, but of course I don’t say anything. “Yeah? Where did you guys go?”
    “We went to that new martini bar on Main, above Cavalier’s. It was so beautiful and the drinks were cheaper than normal because they just opened lastweek. I swear I tried almost every flavour of martini, from banana chocolate to mango-cranberry. Patrick was hilarious! I didn’t know that guy could party; he’s so quiet around here. He told us some pretty funny stories about his dad. When he was younger, Tom took an electrician course and when Pat was growing up, Tom would try and do all of his own fix-it work before anyone could call a licensed electrician. Well, he botched quite a few jobs and the family incurred more expenses
because
of his work. My God, we laughed pretty hard at that one.”
    I’m sure they spoke last night about how lame I am. I used to go out more often, but I just don’t really feel the desire to anymore. The last thing I want to do after a long day at work is to socialize with the same people I’ve seen all day.
    Next to come in is Dr. Roerke, with Patrick. Patrick and I only work together