It feels really weird. Supernatural, almost. Watching you across the football field, hot metal bleachers beneath me, as some old man in a cap and gown hands you a diploma. You’re matching him — the school colors shimmering brightly under the heavy sun. I’m still recovering from a hangover, but I wouldn’t have missed your graduation for the world.

Look at you, a college student. An educated member of our society. That makes you a lot better than me, I guess.

I bet you didn’t want me here. We haven’t talked in years, but I would have expected you to invite me to come watch you graduate. Instead I had to hear about it from Sam. I guess all college graduates stick together. Or something like that.

After the ceremony ends we all give one more round of applause. I stand on the bleachers, twitching, deliberating on whether or not to approach you. Watching you accept your diploma was one thing, but speaking to you? A totally different thing.

You eventually spot me. Great. Actually. Because now I’m not the weird one for starting a conversation with you, because you’re the one storming up to me. Or, rather, approaching me tentatively like you’re scared I might grab your neck between my teeth like a feral animal. I offer you a smile. You look upset.

Bullshit.

“You fuckin’ miss me,” I say with a grin. There, I said it.