The Reunion

Looking at the darkened windows of my high school, with the blinds still drawn, I was taken back to a time of forgotten innocence. I pictured myself, though a much younger and less wise version, pushing my way through the large blue double doors out into the front courtyard where I would await the bus for the long ride home. It was a relatively easier time, free from the responsibilities that have burdened me of late. I thought about what I wouldn’t give to relive some of those moments. My crush on my sophomore French teacher, my editorial position on the school paper, and my first kiss given to me at the track after a meet had all been whitewashed into the background of my memory, only to resurface in the presence of my alma mater.

Under my arm, I held the small manila envelope that I had received two weeks prior. It contained the directions to the school as well as a map of the building’s layout, and little blue and white “Hello, my name is” sticker. The map and directions were of little use to me, for I knew my way around like the back of my hand. The gymnasium, where the reunion was to be held, was down the main hall and the first set of doors on the right.

Along with the envelope I carried my yearbook, which was well-worn and still had some dust on the cover that I hadn’t wiped off completely. On the interior were the signatures and now unused phone numbers from my old friends and the inside jokes we shared, none of which I could still remember.

I walked down the main corridor, which had shrunk since I last walked here, in the same footsteps of my youth. Lingering echoes of voices from the past swirled around, and I envisioned the faces of my schoolmates crowding the halls. As I approached the gymnasium doors, the voices became clearer on the other side. I took a deep breath and affixed the name tag to my shirt before pulling open the heavy wooden door.

As I stepped into the crowded gymnasium, which was decorated in streamers of black and gold, I scanned the array of faces for anyone I could remember. Only one stood out: the narrow, pale face of Joe Cramer, the all-star athlete, who looked no different other than the bushy goatee on his chin. I remember the hatred that I had for him because he was a lot of things I wasn’t. I made it a point, however, to talk to him at one point throughout the night.

To my left stood the registration desk, where I was greeted by a girl from the current senior class who was helping out at the reunion. I introduced myself, and was given a pin-on button made with my class photo. After chatting a bit with the perky senior about the events the night would hold, I made my way into the center of action, the bleachers on the opposite side of the gym.

I crossed the school symbol painted on the floor in the center of the gym, noticing that it had been redone since I had graduated. The colors were brighter, more vivid than I remembered. A striking blonde woman approached me, covering her button and smiling at me with a brilliant grin.

“Hi! Do you remember me?”

Quite frankly, I had no idea who she was though I was afraid to admit it. I tried to peek at her name tag, but all I managed to see was the letter F. “Felicia?” I asked, taking a guess. Felicia Miles had a crush on me back in high school, but because my eyes were focused on the more popular girls, I had never given her a second look.

“How’d you guess?” she asked me, still grinning, and gave me a hug. As I hugged her back, I regretted not giving a chance to the quiet blonde with braces, glasses and sweater portrayed in the button on her blouse.

Felicia and I talked for several minutes before splitting up to mingle with the rest of the crowd. I learned that she had been divorced and left with two young children, but worked full-time as a receptionist at a dentist’s office. She gave me her business card and wrote her home number on the back, so we could make plans to have dinner in the future. The night so far had gone well, and as I looked around for another familiar face I began to feel more relaxed than when I first came.

My next objective was to find Joe Cramer, but I found him already in a group talking, and my high school insecurities returned, preventing me from butting into the conversation. I stepped back, nearly bumping into one of my best friends from freshman year, Chuck Adams. Chuck and I had spent many long afternoons in the recreation room, playing Dungeons and Dragons with our small tight-knit group of friends, many of which had lost contact or moved away after high school.

“It’s Alfohir, the mighty elf!” Chuck always called me by my character’s name, even in public.

I grinned and shook my head, extending my hand to my old friend. He was dressed in a navy polo shirt and dress slacks, which were uncommon for the scruffy teen that I knew back then. I couldn’t help laughing to myself. “Hey, man, it’s been too long. How have you been?” I asked as he shook my hand eagerly.

“I’m an information technician for a local software company.” Chuck spoke proudly, and for good reason. He had always been an ace with computers, and was considered a nerd for it. But now he looked and talked as though he was very successful. I couldn't have felt happier for him. “I’m also married now,” he added, showing me the gold band on his finger. “Patrice and I have been together for two and a half years now. How are things with you?”

I told him about my job at a graphics company, where I designed ads and billboards and signs for the different businesses around. Chuck listened to my account with great interest, just like he had always enjoyed looking at my sketches and drawings in my notebooks. It was good to again be in the company of my best friend, and I knew we could have talked the entire evening, but I still had to confront Joe Cramer before the night was over.

Joe was at the refreshment table when I excused myself to Chuck, and as I made my way over, I fought the temptation to revert to my old ways of creatively mocking my nemesis. “So, it is Joe Cramer, I see,” I said casually as I approached him.

“Simon,” he replied, reading my name tag, “I don’t seem to remember your name at all. What class were you in?”

I was going to make him think first. “You don’t remember my chicken legs in gym class and the track team?” The horrid nickname I had gained from the way I quickly walked and ran in those days stuck with me, and I wondered if he would remember as well.

“Chicken Legs? That was you?” Joe’s jaw dropped as the memory was jogged back in his mind. “Boy, I wish I could have used your legs back when I was in the army.” He pointed down to his left leg, which closer up looked different than the other. He told me how he was in the service and stationed over in the Middle East, and one of his legs took a bullet and had to be amputated. “I didn’t run fast enough. But you, I remember that you were like lightning on the track. Do you still run?”

I was shocked. I had just been complimented by someone who I had envied and hated, and now he didn’t seem as bad as I thought back then. “It’s only jogging now, and only on weekends.” I laughed, and Joe laughed with me.

The rest of the night didn’t turn out as bad as I had thought either. I met some teachers, participated in dances and some silly games with my old classmates, and altogether enjoying the good times at my high school reunion.