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The Reunion
by Anne Marsh
I stood by the door and wondered what had possessed me to come to my high school reunion in the first place. I wasn't really popular or successful then, and I'm not really popular or successful *now*. I'm on the low end of middle management, and I don't even know what my company *does*. No one's ever told me.
The reason I came, I guess, is that I grew up with these people. We've all known each other since we were somewhere in the neighbourhood of seven or eight. We spent our childhoods together, learned all of life's lessons together. These were the people I trick-or-treated with on Hallowe'ens. We were in Christmas pageants and school plays together, learned the true meanings of stuff like friendship, and holidays. Christmas was about Christ, Thanksgiving was about thanks, and Valentine's Day was about teaching you early on that life is a series of disappointments. We played together, were all in the same little league, helped each other through childhood hardships like spelling bees, big brother-hood, first love, and the time my dog ran away. He came back home, eventually, but at the time, that was the worst thing I could imagine.
I wonder who had changed the most, and who grew up and actually did what they wanted to when they were kids. My best friend had always been younger than the rest of us, but he skipped a couple grades in high school, so he was here, too, and he found me pretty quickly.
"Talked to anyone yet?" He asked, handing his coat over to coat check.
"Can I take your scarf?" The girl asked.
"No, thanks." He smiled at her, shaking his head, and the faded-blue fleece scarf stayed on. I raised one eyebrow, and he shrugged. "Kind of a security blanket."
"Boy, I wish I had something like that. I mean-- I hardly know these people anymore. And to be fair, I'm not sure I knew some of them all that well before."
"Just have fun with it."
"How's your sister?" I asked, staying by the wall.
"She's all right. She's here-- you'll know her when you see her. How's yours?"
"Far, far away, but pretty good. She said to say 'hi'."
"Tell her the same."
"So... she's here, huh? What's she wearing, 'cause if I see her, I'm not knowing."
"Blue. It's a dress, don't ask me to describe it. It's-- wrapped, or drapey, or something."
"What's she doing now?"
"Seeing a therapist."
"Romantically, or...?"
"Or. But was there ever any doubt?"
"I should see a therapist..."
"Romantically, or?" He smiled.
"Or, definitely or. Have you kept in touch with anyone?"
"Yeah." He scanned the room, pointing out a guy in a bad suit. "Very successful, not that you'd think it looking at him." Next, he pointed out a woman with brown curls, wearing a power suit. "Married to him."
"Is that--"
"Yup."
"Not to--"
"Yup."
"Who else?"
"Mingle yourself." He gave me a shove towards the center of the room. "I'm going to get something to eat.
I kept going until I hit the other wall-- not literally, I mean-- where I met another wallflower-- dark hair down to her shoulders, cats-eye glasses, and an orange party dress.
"Hi. Um... are we having fun?"
She smiled softly. "I guess so. How have you been doing?"
I looked down at her nametag, then back at her face. "Okay, I guess. I didn't get married or anything, but I've got a steady job. You?"
"I'm a writer. I moved to Canada last year to get married."
"Who's the lucky guy?" I asked.
She pointed to a small crowd by the punchbowl. It took me a little while to realize that she wasn't talking about the one man there, but a woman in a green dress-shirt, black slacks, birkenstocks, and a no-nonsense haircut. Okay, I only realized that when the two women waved at each other.
"I'm lucky, too." She said.
Having run out of things to say, I re-found my old best friend over by the piano in the back corner.
"Talk to anyone?"
"Yeah."
He pointed out another figure, approaching us. "Realized his childhood dreams. You should do that."
"I don't know what my childhood dreams were." I shrugged. "To grow up and have a job, I guess."
"You must have had better dreams than just that."
The man who came over wore a very nice suit, his fair hair in disarray. He sat on the bench and looked up at us, not quite making eye contact. "Anyone mind if I just play around for a little while?"
"No." I shrugged.
"Go right ahead."
I didn't recognize the piece-- it was one of those things everyone's heard, I just didn't know what it was. Classical. I don't really have an ear for that sort of thing, though. Really good, I could tell that much.
"Moonlight Sonata." A soft voice said, and a girl with black hair flipped out over her shoulder leaned against the tall back of the piano, arms folded on the top. "That's very nice."
"Thank you."
"It's my favourite piece."
"It's not his best work."
"Oh."
"I like it, though." He shrugged, the playing continuing.
"You know, it was in high school that I cultivated an interest in classical music. I didn't like it at first, I didn't use to, but I got to be fond of it. In high school."
"That's nice."
"And I don't care for Brahms, and Bach is all right, and sometimes I'm in a Wagnerian mood, and Mozart and Chopin are all right for some," She continued. "I'm sorry-- am I bothering you?"
"I don't know, I wasn't listening."
"Oh." Her head dropped forward for a moment. "I heard you played Carnegie Hall."
'Carnegie Hall?', I mouthed.
"That must have been wonderful. I wished I'd-- wish I could've seen. Did you do-- a lot of Beehtoven?"
"A couple pieces."
"Did you play this one?"
"Better than I'm playing it now."
"I'm sorry... I am bothering you."
"No, but you have to do a better job in Carnegie Hall than you do in your old high school gymnasium."
"I didn't know Moonlight Sonata could be played better than you're playing it now."
"I've done it before."
She came around the piano to sit on the bench, and I recognized the drapey-wrap-y dress that had kind of been described to me.
"I would *not* have recognized her." I whispered, shaking my head. "She's a completely different person!"
He shrugged. "Thank her therapist."
She spotted me, and smiled, picking up two glasses from a passing tray of champagne and coming over to stand with us. "I see he's found you. Want one?"
I reached, and she pulled back, grinning. "I'm sorry, did you say yes you wanted one?"
"Not completely different." I sighed. "Yes, thank you."
She pulled back again, almost laughing.
"Good grief..." I sighed again. "I'll get my own."
"I'll be nice." She put it in my hand. I almost dropped it, having expected her to take it back again. "Careful! How've you been?"
"Good."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"Have you fulfilled your life's potential?"
"Well-- I'm really a little young to completely fulfill my life's potential, aren't I?"
"Are you happy?"
"Is your psychiatrist giving you lessons?"
"Hm... not answering the question... Suspicious."
"I'm happy as I've ever been." I shrugged uneasily.
"Why'd you come? I never had you pegged as a big reunion person."
"I don't know, I came." I answered, somewhat evasive. I know why I came-- I came because of a girl. Not her, another girl.
I'd been in love with her my whole life-- ridiculous, that I'd come here looking for her, after all these years. And we'd never been close-- I hadn't known her so well that-- And we didn't keep in touch, for all I know she's married. For all I know...
And then I spotted her, across the room, the girl who'd been making my heart go pitter-pat for more years than I'd like to admit. She was talking with someone-- Violet, maybe-- but even from behind, she was impossible to mistake, with her red hair swept up, revealing a long white neck that disappeared into the collar of a meticulously tailored suit.
She turned and saw me, her face lighting up in a brilliant smile as she swept over to greet me.
"Brownie, Charles!"
---/-/---
~FIN~
(Yes, the Peanuts gang... Yes, Peppermint Patty and Marcie are the lesbians... Yes, Lucy's undergone the personality transplant. And yes, that loveable blockhead Chuck has never forgotten The Little Redheaded Girl.)
=^_^=
Anne