Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot
On a scorching July morning in a Colorado that existed before cell phones, streaming, and apps, my friend Michelle and I slathered oil on ourselves and sprawled out on a couple of rickety aluminum lawn chairs in my tiny, unkempt backyard. This was also a time before we became concerned about sun damage, melanoma, and our mortality.My little boombox sat in the shade on the square of concrete that was almost a patio. The spinning gears in the tape deck cranked out The Doors on cassette.Michelle picked up the bong that sat between us, took a hit, and handed it to me. She giggled and said, "Dude. Check us out. We look like a couple of greasy goons."I lifted my head and scanned my skinny white legs, shimmering with fine blond hairs and grease, like a scrawny chicken ready for the oven. The oil covered my face, my hair pulled up tight in a clumsy knot. I took the bong...