After work I pulled into the parking lot
of the Publix supermarket. Megh snatched the
keys out of the ignition and flew the coop.
I was in no mood to chase her. She looked back,
sighed and asked, “Do you want your keys?” I started
to say something, but paused when a man in a
Charlotte Bobcats hat passed by and tipped his bill.
“You gotta to be kidding me,” I mumbled. “What?”
Meghan asked, turning around. “Nothing,” I said.
We went inside and picked up a few things for
dinner. Two steaks – rib eyes, of course, with no bone,
tater tots and salad. Cupcakes for desert.
I suggested pie. Meghan just laughed and said
ice cream. It’s an inside joke we share. We’re friends.
We’re both uncool. We’re uncool together. So?
When we got home to our shared domicile
I cooked the meat and she made the rest of it,
then we watched the Montgomery episode
of Drunk History. They talked about Percy
Lavon Julian. Born: 1899.
Died: 1975. Apparently
he went to DePauw University in
Greencastle, Indiana. My jaw dropped an
inch or two and Megh looked at me funny. “Hey,”
she said, chewing the fat, “Isn’t that the team
of the hat you wore back in that poem you
wrote about some girl you went to high school with?”
“Yep,” I nodded, putting down my knife. “It most…