The Alumni sends me a Facebook message: We need to get together, to plan an alumni night out. He’s free any weeknight, so I choose a Tuesday to meet up at a trendy microbrewery in my neighborhood. He’s skeptical of the suburban location, but I tell him they have indoor minigolf, and when he arrives, he concedes. It’s cool, it’s perfect.
The last time I saw him – the night I decided that driving a Mini was not for me – his girlfriend was there; but she isn’t tonight. I inquire what she’s up to.
We’re living together now, he says. She rides her horse most nights, though. That’s why I have time to plan events.
We sample some microbrews and catch up a bit, and eventually, find the manager and schedule a Sunday afternoon get-together for our high school friends. On the day of the event, the Alumni is helpful, as promised, playing co-host and ordering too many pizzas for the crowd that arrives, some with spouses, others not.
There’s a good turnout, but the event isn’t quite as big as we hoped: The weather is unusually nice, so we lose a few people to hikes and horseback rides.