WonkyLemur

Still Waters I first met Thomas Simard the night of my fifth-year high school reunion.  Several of us had ended up at the house of the young woman who had masterminded the whole thing.  It was well past one o’clock in the morning, but there was still a bedlam of music, talk and laughter, and plenty of beer-drinking and Doritos-munching. As I walked though the dining room on my way to the den, my attention was briefly caught by a young man sitting quietly alone in the corner.  I had no idea who he was—certainly not a member of our class. The overhead lighting accentuated the paleness of his face, and filled the spaces beneath his