Most Likely To...

Last week I got back in touch with an old friend from high school who recently moved to New York. I’m not really friendly with anyone else from back then, save the occasional email exchange, and for the most part I’ve been really okay with that. But when I heard from this particular friend, I got really excited. He was one of those people who seemed a little bigger than our school, like he had already figured out that how popular you were at 16 didn’t really mean shit in the long run, which is a pretty advanced concept for someone that age.

When we got together, I learned that 1) he was (duh) gay, and 2) I was unbelievably naïve as a teenager. Apparently, while I was at home picking out Indigo Girls songs on my six-string, fantasizing about a boy who never talked to me, my friends were trafficking illicit substances and engaging in polyamory. I mean, I knew the popular kids were drinking and having sex because they talked about it all the time, but I just assumed that my friends were as lame and confused as I was. Not so much. My innocence was so obvious that nobody had the heart to break it to me. Somehow I managed to miss the bongs rattling around with the Burger King cups in their back seats.

Now I live in New York City, one of the world capitols of all things seedy and perverse. I find it odd when I don’t see a tranny for a few days, and I can’t walk from my apartment to the subway without witnessing a drug deal (though I generally take pains to look away—I saw nothing!). When I meet someone new, I usually assume that 1) they are (duh) gay, and 2) they have a weed man. I’m sure that in many ways I’m just as innocent as ever, but I’d still probably give my high school self a heart attack.