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Here Comes Arialia

Here Comes Arialia Alia Volz We were early birds, bad girls, schemers, druggies. Aria and I only attended high school as freshmen; after that, we were independent study kids. While Analy High’s class of ’96 amassed memories to chronicle in yearbooks, we skulked around our small California town, smoking weed and later meth, hitchhiking, getting fucked up with grown men. We skipped prom, school pictures, and graduation. So when Aria calls to talk me into our ten-year high school reunion, I assume she’s joking. Aria lives on the East Coast, whereas I’ve recently returned to San Francisco, an hour south of our former stomping grounds. Now she wants to fl y cross-country for the reunion of a high school we barely attended. It’s absurd. But the promise of a visit from my old partner in crime is enough to get me interested. “You realize we’re not going to know anybody,” I say. “I know,” she laugh-screams. “Th at’s the whole fucking point.” Alia Volz One morning in freshman homeroom, Mandy Chapman twisted around in her seat and whispered, “Dude, are you stoned? Your eyes are so red.” She was a pretty tomboy with uncanny social ease, the kind of girl who could http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png River Teeth: A Journal of Nonfiction Narrative Ashland University

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Publisher
Ashland University
Copyright
Copyright © Ashland University
ISSN
1548-3339

Abstract

Alia Volz We were early birds, bad girls, schemers, druggies. Aria and I only attended high school as freshmen; after that, we were independent study kids. While Analy High’s class of ’96 amassed memories to chronicle in yearbooks, we skulked around our small California town, smoking weed and later meth, hitchhiking, getting fucked up with grown men. We skipped prom, school pictures, and graduation. So when Aria calls to talk me into our ten-year high school reunion, I assume she’s joking. Aria lives on the East Coast, whereas I’ve recently returned to San Francisco, an hour south of our former stomping grounds. Now she wants to fl y cross-country for the reunion of a high school we barely attended. It’s absurd. But the promise of a visit from my old partner in crime is enough to get me interested. “You realize we’re not going to know anybody,” I say. “I know,” she laugh-screams. “Th at’s the whole fucking point.” Alia Volz One morning in freshman homeroom, Mandy Chapman twisted around in her seat and whispered, “Dude, are you stoned? Your eyes are so red.” She was a pretty tomboy with uncanny social ease, the kind of girl who could

Journal

River Teeth: A Journal of Nonfiction NarrativeAshland University

Published: May 23, 2018

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