The 30-year-old marginBy Wade Kwon
â€œHi, are you Wade?â€
â€œWhatâ€™s your last name?â€
â€œI thought so.â€
â€œWe went to first grade together.â€
Best opening lines ever.
Itâ€™s hard to mind your own business in this town. Damn hard. As Iâ€™ve said before, this townâ€™s too fucking incestuous.
Friday, Iâ€™m at an art event at the Starbucks in Five Points South. Since I lack the social graces, Iâ€™m stuffing my face with pastry, having not eaten all day. Crumbs are falling everywhere, napkin doing a poor job of keeping my mouth clean.
A young woman, lanky, blond, walks up to where Iâ€™m seated in the corner. Itâ€™s facetime, and Iâ€™m admiring the colorful works lining the walls as well as the crashers, poseurs and caffeine fiends circulating in the loft.
And so begins my first conversation of the night.
So I look pretty stupid, right? With the crumbs and the dumb look on my face. Iâ€™m doing math in my head. My God, itâ€™s been 30 years.
And I still donâ€™t know her name. In fact, the only classmate I remember from first grade was the weird kid who lived down the street.
S. didnâ€™t stick around Birmingham â€” her family moved after that year, which kinda explains why we didnâ€™t share any classes from second grade on. She moved all around the world, ending up back in town a few years ago.
Turns out, she knows me from the Web. But not this site, nor Wade on Birmingham, but from my MySpace page. When a girl says she knows you from MySpace, itâ€™s cute. When I say it, itâ€™s creepy, like â€œfava beans and Chiantiâ€ creepy.
She was cruising MySpace â€” as we all do â€” and found some pics on a random girlâ€™s page. That random girl turns out to be Biffâ€™s baby sis, one of my buddies.
Six degrees of weird.
Doesnâ€™t really matter how she found me. Weâ€™re here, weâ€™re chatting, we have three decadesâ€™ worth of stories to share.
I venture from the cave for one night, and a face from the past finds me straightaway.
Friday was just getting started â€¦