Reunion

I went to my 20 year class reunion Saturday night. I've not been invited to any of them, rumor has it that the people in charge can't find me. I have lived in the same town as my high school--for 17 of the last 20 years. My mom still lives in the same house, even has the same phone number as I did back then. One of the men on the committee is my second cousin. I find it completely hilarious.

I knew one of my best girlfriends was definitely going to be there, so I wouldn't feel too weird walking in alone. I did need some encouragement from my daughter, she even told me that "You don't look like a freak. Just GO!" Nice kid, let me tell ya.

I don't like crowds. They make me edgy & uncomfortable as hell. I've been known to have full-blown panic attacks in crowded stores that have extremely loud music. So now I have these little white pills from my doc that keeps me from spazzing out when I'm pushed over that anxiety cliff. I made sure to take one before I left.

Walking in that door--to be judged--took some internal strength for me. (I intentionally showed up an hour late so perhaps I wouldn't stand out as much & the hopefully the hoopla had died down some.) Comparison. That is really the only reason I can pin down why people like going to these things. To see who has aged badly, who has gotten fat, who has money, who has married well, who has divorced, who lives in better houses, drives the cool cars and so on.

Because I think if you truly cared about these people from your past--you would do something to contact them, write them, make them a part of your life. Instead of just showing up every 5 or 10 years with empty promises of "We'll get together soon" or "We can play golf."

Why do we need reassurance that we are living a worthy life? Each person in that bar was doing their own P/R stunt, talking about their jobs, their kids, their spouses, heartaches & victories. They wanted to share, to be acknowledged, to be complimented, to be admired.

Isn't reflecting on our own life enough? Loving our families, cherishing our friends, working hard at our jobs and in our homes.

I sat in a dark corner booth by myself for several minutes to observe. Fake smiles. Boob jobs. Worry lines & wrinkles. Faux designer clothes & $200 shoes. Alcoholics, bulimics, manic depressives. Thinning hair, bulging stomachs. I saw through some of their bravado--hiding their own personal demons to project a successful life.

I know my own demons well and how hard it is to struggle through this life at times. Making the best of a bad run of luck. Praying that you are doing the very best thing for your kids. Hoping that you'll make it through the next day-week-month.

I also know that most of these people I've not seen for twenty years have done nothing to mold or share my life journey since then. The "How Are You's" and the "What Do You Do For a Living's" are just bullshit--to get through your speech--so they can tell you their story. You nod, smile & wait for an opening in the conversation to get more of your story out. As they do the same for you. Until it's time to break away to another familiar stranger--only to start all over again.

Nod. Smile. Laugh. Story. Repeat.

We were tossed and shuffled for four years in high school. We held tight to our cliques, stood fast by our friends, struggled with our homework, had fun in our sports and clubs. We grew into adulthood at our own pace; some did so gracefully, some did so awkwardly. We gauged life only as it related directly to our own desires but then second-guessed our choices by what others may think--what others may criticize. For what? Recognition? Condemnation? Or for ourselves? High school was a battlefield of hormones, angst, growth & peaks. For some it was a challenge, for some it was a breeze.


In my town, the misfits are still considered the misfits. The preps are still the preps. The hoods are still the hoods. Jocks, cheerleaders, science kids, band members...they've not lost their auras of who they were trying to be back then.

And not a one has forgotten your faults & fuck-ups from back then. Several were quick to point out "Remember that time you drank Jack Daniels through a straw for breakfast, got caught & kicked out of school?" Nooo, I'd blocked that, but hey thanks for reminding me. (Not really, I remember very clearly why I drank to excess to numb my reality at 15--but they didn't know what was behind my walls then. And they never will. But I'll always be that girl to them.

Maybe I'm jaded, but for each person who wrote down my email or asked for my phone number--I know I won't hear from them again. Thank god. My best friends from high school are still my best friends. We don't get together often. But in a crisis or a celebration, we're still the first one's that we call, the first one's on each other's front porch--ready to help, ready to listen, ready to bail each other out. Because we've been through everything together and still love each other anyway. Warts and all. Divorces, miscarriages, abortions, bankruptcies, parents, siblings & grandparents dying, addictions, abuse, depression, pregnancies, wives or husbands leaving, raising kids & paying taxes. And yet, at the core, we're still those goofy heavy-metal-loving misfit clique in the yearbook. In another 30 years or so, we'll be the misfits raising hell in the nursing homes too.