I’m 29 – that means I’m an adult, I’m pretty sure. I have adult things to worry about. Children, husband, bills, job – those sorts of things. So why is it that once in a while I find my thoughts contorting themselves around an isolated event from the 10th grade?
It’s easy for me to rehash: the plain, manila sheet getting posted up on the outside of the girls’ locker room. The plain, manila sheet with thirty or so names – none of which were mine.