The smell of spring is out of synch with the patches of snow, but it hangs in the air, cloying, tantalizing, seductive. I race to my room to retrieve my Psych books, breathing deep like a long-distance runner. I’m tall and muscular but have trouble remembering an assignment for five minutes. Alzheimer’s. That’s what Mia calls it. Thank God brain death is painless. If she knew what was really on my mind, she’d move to another dorm.
The sun is warm on my face. Bachelor parties should be made illegal. Not that I overslept. The wedding is scheduled for three. The guys won’t be here until two. I test the condition of my head as I sit up. I should have killed my brother, instead of that last bottle of Glenfiddich. Some good luck, beginning life with Elizabeth totally hung over.
It’s September and I’m sitting in the registrar’s office hearing I need three more credits to be full time and what the hell, why not sign up for Creative Writing cause I always did good in English and teachers take my work and put it on the overhead for others to look at as an example