Sex Ed

Whoosh! Went the open bottle past the tips of my knees; spinning recklessly, with purpose, and soon to choose the next lucky luster. O'conner Park, home to the impromptu spin the bottle crusades. Hell, I was just a seventh grader and somehow ended up in this dizzy game with ladies from the town high school. Never bothered to figure out how. Always took it as a surreal badge of gaming the system. This was boyhood lit up lust, jet fueled and sprung from the dark angst at One Stone Drive. I visually locked on the fading speed of the bottle; the acute sound of glass scuffing over the final chips of pavement, halting to a full stop. At me. The bottle’s open mouth seeming to utter, “That’s you, Bucko.”