the essay about high school

Hey ya'll! Below is a copy of the essay I was talking about a couple of posts ago. For the record, I never went to the reunion.
--K

Dear Becky Sanderson-Kobb,

I'm sorry to inform you that I won't be attending the ten-year reunion of John Marshall High School's graduating class of 1994. I know you're looking forward to seeing me. We have a lot of catching up to do.
Thing is, since 1994, I've scarcely had time enough to bask in my own good fortune, much less prepare for such a momentous occasion such as the one you and your lockermates have been planning for the past umpteen years. Awards shows, interviews and movie shooting schedules tend to eat through the most ironclad of plans. And far be it for me to appear ill prepared when you've forsaken a career and so much more for this one night.
Memories are funny things, so feel free to look me up in the yearbook. Unfortunately, you won't find me among the "Best" or "Most Likely" lists. No, I take that back. Haley Flinn wrote me in for "Most likely to Suffer from an Anorexia-Related Stroke". You guys got a good laugh out of that one, as I recall. By the way, if you see her, let her know I'm fine now, thanks.
If anyone remembers me, it should be Lance McHenry. You know, the editor of Marshall's creative writing journal "Wellspring"? You were banging him, so your twenty-seven line epic about an Oglivie home perm gone awry, as well as other inspiring pieces by your clique, were included. My poem was not. In fact, one afternoon I popped into the journalism department to check on my submission and heard you and Lance, Tiffany and Haley reading it aloud and laughing. You probably didn't see me since there were actual tears in your eyes. It was a haiku about my dying grandfather, as a matter of interest, but I'm glad you got a chuckle.
Alas, every kick in the teeth has a silver lining. Years after the Wellspring incident, I ran into Tiffany at Kroger. Lucky cow, she looks exactly the same! Yep. Same Bon Jovi bangs, same acid washed tragedy of an outfit. She hasn't passed go nor collected $200. I offered her a smile, but only received a half smile in return. Not entirely her fault, though, as the other half of her teeth were missing.
Speaking of our old pals, I ran into Haley a couple of years ago, too. I was flying into San Antonio and wouldn't you know I'd finished my book on the plane? There I was in the bookstore and, between Deepak Chopra and James Patterson (literally filling the space between C and P), were Haley and her ginormous ass cheeks. She gave me a look she reserves only for the leafiest of greens, and lumbered past me with a huff. Well, I later discovered that it wasn't me she was upset with. The person behind me was purchasing the last bag of gummy worms.
Again, so sorry I can't make it to your little shindig. Trust, there's nothing more I'd like to do than flaunt my success and age-defying body in your faces, but who knows? Maybe I'll make it to the twenty-year reunion. By then, I'll have something like Golden Globe or Oscar worth talking about. International success doesn't begin to compare with your trials of, say, infant mouth thrush, but then again, I was always a step behind. Anyhow, Beks, hope you, Tiffany, and Haley have a bang up time next week. Just be sure to toast the ones you've left behind, as I'm sure they're on a yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean toasting you.

Laughing loud enough for you to hear,
Kay