How strange to think about the winning touchdown scored by the kid who died six years ago, you’ve heard, as you drive down Maple past the high school and stop at Mimi’s Convenience for a six pack, to see the girl you think you kissed in seventh grade fondling overripe bananas, her hair turned mysteriously blonde, to idle there in the parking lot, My Best Friend’s Girl blaring on the oldies station in your rental car, to chug one beer and know that’s become your limit, then to continue on along the river where you used to catch lunker mudcats with Jonesy who, if Facebook rumors are true, is in prison for shattering the plate glass at Chang’s Buffet while peaking on meth. And how strange to be back for the funeral of a cousin who fell through the ice at Stetson Pond where he once skated figure eights with you, he never left this place, to realize so many never left, to suddenly grow tired and wonder who locks your old bedroom window now…to even wonder if you should knock.