Once he recollected his thoughts, Mike knew he'd had enough of the high school reunion. He gulped down the rest of his beer, Sorrel knew exactly what he was about to do, "Look, it was awful what happened to Jeremy, he never deserved it," she tried to reach him, "But, you couldn't have come here just to meet up with him again!" Mike slammed the glass on the counter and glared at her with intense fury,

"I came because of you and Jeremy," he told her, "I don't care about the rest of them! Because of them, I was counting the days to graduation, I wanted to get out of this deadbeat town so goddamn bad..." Mike stood up and stormed towards the door, shoving past his former classmates, some of whom were staring at him, and ignored Sorrel calling out his name desperately.

He ran down the street and leaped into his car, and as he drove past the bar he only barely noticed Sorrel standing outside in front of the bar looking on as he drove past her. Mike had never felt more simultaneously confused and seething with rage in his whole life; he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts it was a wonder he didn't get himself into an accident. What Sorrel had told him didn't make sense, How the hell do you lose a chunk of your brain in a restaurant? he thought, Was there a fire? Did a fight break out? Did someone start a shooting massacre in there?

What Mike did know was he only had one small piece of a larger puzzle. Almost in a dreamlike state, Mike parked his car near his apartment. He went inside and began trudging up the stairs, although he wasn't drunk, Mike felt as if he were going through the hangover. His hands trembling, he unlocked the door to his room and, his feet dragging, stepped inside, Do I still have it? Last time I checked, I did...

In Mike's apartment, one could almost literally shut the window and close the door without getting up from the bed, as such, it didn't leave much room for a lot of junk. Still, Mike had several things that he held onto for twenty years. He reached under his bed and pulled out a musty-smelling box. Mike parted the lid and began shifting through the miscellaneous medals and A-B honor roll certificates that he'd earned during his high school years. He soon pulled out a dented yearbook from the bottom of the box that read: Bentley High School 1982-83.

Mike flipped through the pages until he found Jeremy's picture; he stared at Jeremy's tawny hair and thin-as-a-rail frame for what seemed like hours. Mike soon realized tears were flowing down his cheeks, and he allowed himself to pull his legs up from the floor and weep softly, something he never let himself do even if he was completely alone, "I can't believe it, Jeremy," he couldn't help saying aloud, his voice chopped up from his sobbing, "I almost forgot your face, what kind of friend am I? I should've called you back, I'm so sorry..."

One question, one that he never really thought about, was answered. Sorrel mentioned the accident happening in 1987, while they were in colleges that were in different states, Mike and Jeremy would chat frequently over the phone, usually Jeremy was the one who'd call Mike. The calls from Jeremy suddenly stopped late in '87; however, Mike had just gotten a job, and so he would always forget to call Jeremy. Mike figured his friend had gotten a job that took up a lot of his time as well, and so, he never called Jeremy back, to the point where Mike had almost forgotten his friend until he moved back to his birth state a few months before.

With a massive headache throbbing his in head, Mike crawled into bed without taking off his clothes, still clutching the yearbook tightly. He knew exactly what he would do the next day. It took Mike a long time to drift off to sleep, and when he did, he replayed the memory of his last conversation with Jeremy in person, just days before they had to leave to go to college,

Mike? Don't lie to me, I know you'll miss home.

I guess; but, I won't miss much.

Yeah, yeah, I've heard you a million times. It's just, I feel like you're a part of me, like you're a...

...Brother?

Um, maybe something like that. I hardly even have an idea of what I'm gonna do after college!

Well, you're more talented than I am, the only thing I could do better than you during high school was Shop.

Don't remind me. I think I'll definitely sell my drawings on the side to help pay my college loans.

You should focus on your art, you're really good at it.

I'd love to, but, I don't think I'll actually make a career out of drawing. I'd have to be really lucky.

Good point. Just, don't give up on it entirely, Jeremy, okay?

Thanks, Mike.