- Being kidnapped, hog-tied, and driven there at gunpoint
- Being tied to the leg of a team of wild horses who drug me there
- Being abducted by aliens, frozen cryogenically, and left to thaw on the buffet table there
And secondly, my willingness to say anything at all would have to be preceded by a heavy dose of truth serum, injected intravenously, leaving a bitter metallic aftertaste in my mouth. Fifteen minutes after the injection, standing disheveled atop the poorly catered buffet table, I would have no physical capacity to do anything but look out over the crowd of my aging classmates and acknowledge a few of them as they stand and stare and wonder who I am. I would say:
"I didn't recognize you without your hair."
"I didn't recognize you without your flat chest."
"I didn't recognize you drunk."
"I didn't recognize you sober."
"Was it sad when you realize that you peaked in high school?"
"I saw you on the news. And not in the good way."
"Have you been visited in the night by three spirits yet or are we still waiting for that?"
"I always wanted to tell you that your sewing projects were terrible."
"Congratulations on your early prison release and those seven illegitimate children."
"They let you into medical school? Was it an online medical school?"
"If only you had applied the same ruthless ambition to your career as you did to ruin my life, you might have actually become somebody."
I would say those things because the first phase of truth serum is the revelation of petty truths. You know, all the little accurate jabs we keep locked behind clenched teeth. I don't condone spouting out petty truths. It isn't helpful or attractive. Stay away from truth serum, that's what I say. Especially in a crowd.
The next phase of truth serum reveals itself with sad truths. They are pathetic in nature. This is what they would sound like coming out of my pathetic mouth:
"I am jealous of people who loved high school."
"I feel robbed of a normal high school experience."
"I am constantly surprised when people refer to their 'dear high school friends'. It seems like such an oxymoron to me."
"What did I ever do to you?"
"High School Musical makes me feel bad about myself."
Helpful Hint: If you're going to take a forced dose of IV truth serum in front of your high school reunion, be sure and arrange some violin music to play in the background.
Don't be nervous about what would happen next. The third and final phase of truth serum would not be as humiliating for me or my audience. The third phase is the actual truth, born of perspective, time and maturity. The actual truth is cleansing. It would climb out of my throat, stretch its arms in the light of day, marvel at its freedom and say:
"None of this matters anymore, actually. Even though I just said a bunch of petty things, I don't hate any of you or wish you ill will. When it comes right down to it, I actually wish you well. I hope, if you were one of the people who was cruel to me, that you have changed. For the sake of the people in your life, I hope you are a better person now. The world needs better people. I have decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. I can accept that you were young, without comprehension, believing that your actions were harmless. It's the plague of youth, I guess. And I can accept that I may have viewed some of you unfairly, interpreting your standing by as cowardly. Perhaps you truly didn't know.
"But maybe in the years since then, you've lived a little more and seen more of life's darker hallways. Maybe you've learned about disappointment and sorrow. Maybe you lost a job, a dream, a someone. Maybe one day you found a lump. Maybe one day you found God. Maybe you watched a lot of Dr. Phil."
"I don't know, and--I mean this in the nicest possible way--I don't care. Not at all. I have a good life. I have health and family and love. I make excellent chocolate chip cookies and chicken curry that's as warm and comforting as a mother's hug. I have a collection of red shoes. I like who I am. I wish you the same."
At this point, the kidnappers/wild horses/aliens would release me to return back to my life. I would climb off the table and slowly make my way to the double doors dimly lit by an exit sign. Before disappearing forever, I would use up the last of the truth juice flowing in my veins, turn around and simply say:
"But that doesn't mean I want to be your friend on facebook."