Casually interested in my high school classmates I have kept up with the gossip, I mean, the news through a few old pals, but I never attended the reunions until recently when my curiosity peaked and I sallied forth to the rock-bound coast of Maine for my 50th.
About 60 classmates plus spouses showed up and it was a challenge to figure out who they were. How they had aged. Thank goodness for name tags. Several humorous stories were told about me that I’m certain never happened. Well, maybe, but not the one about the shower room contest. I would never have done that!
I wore a red AIDS ribbon to out myself, but it seems it wasn’t necessary. I noticed how the guys I had fooled around with kept away from me, terrified I might mention the past. When forced to meet, they shoved their wives at me mentioning several times how many kids and grand kids they had. I played along, but during the evening I discretely goosed a few to freak them out.
Looking around I noted, as expected, people instantly returned to their old cliques. But everyone was congenial and no old animosities were allowed to arise. We all put on a brave front about how young we all looked. The only one who actually did was four-times married bitch Sindi-Elin. With a face as taut and smooth as a snare drum and lips barely able to move, she preened around the room on four inch heels, suspiciously perfect teeth and boobs, obvious wig and size 1 dress. I hardly noticed her.
I was thrilled to see best gal Gloria Goldberg with semi-crew cut and a pin striped suit. We’d kept in touch, but seldom met. What a success story; after 20 odd years as a Marine and then a Fed Ex driver, she found her true calling. As Cicily de Windemere she writes historical romances featuring her alter ego, the always about to be ravished, Lady Felicity Ravenshaw who saves penniless noblewomen while fighting off evil dukes and handsome pirates. Her classmates had no idea of this, but were agog when she arrived with six foot blond, Inga, her secretary. Losing the spot-light, Sindi-Elin seethed and left. Ha!
I was pleased to see my chief mockers, the jocks, had not escaped the ravages of time with the exception of swim team captain Marco Nappi. Silver-haired, slender, gorgeous as ever. I babbled inanely when he smiled, came over and spoke to me. He mentioned two ex-wives and coming closer said, “I wasn’t cut out for marriage.” Huh? What could that mean? My heart be still. 50 years too late!
The downer of the event was the memorial reading of those who had passed away.
Ignoring implications for the rest of us, we drank a toast and quickly changed to happier subjects.
I wouldn’t call it an evening of fabulous fun; lots of memories flooded back, some good, some bad, but I’m glad I went.
