Small Towns, Small World

I cannot explain what exactly is happening to me, but I’m evolving—or regressing? progressing?—into a soft shell.

Last weekend, when I returned to D.C. for my friend Katie’s wedding, I stepped back into a D.C. that I haven’t felt in almost ten years. Katie was our high school uniter who brought everyone together with the paradoxical combination of efficiency and fun. Senior year, I sat in her passenger seat as she relayed who to text and what to say from her phone while she drove.

While we’re ten years out from high school, something no one wanted to admit, Katie invited us all back to the zip code where we hung out in basements and cried about school or other ground-shattering firsts that feel so ordinary and overblown now. Katie was our Kryvicii, our own personal party organizer and starter. (Our girl walked into the Union Station reception with her new husband as the Doctors Pavio to Avicii’s “Levels” in an homage only our table understood.)

Throughout the weekend, my friends drove…