/art/cavegirl/
coolartgirl@hotmail.com
Copyright 2003 by Rebecca Barrington
The invitation came on bright yellow rag paper printed in neon hula-hula tie colors, palm trees swaying in the tropical pineapple-scented breeze, a vast sky-blue ocean disappearing into a scalding-orange sunset. CHEESEHEADS IN PARADISE…BHS High School Reunion…Coronas and Margaritas Poolside…Seafood Buffet…Tropicalwear Preferred…Be There.
When I walked in the door I wasn't sure if I was in the right place (the venue changed 3 weeks beforehand) or if this was the right room. In front of me was a large sunken room filled with people. I looked for any familiar face. Instead I heard my name called out by four different voices. I was there.
After rushed rounds of hugs and people whispering their name in my ear when I looked quizzically at their face, I wandered over to a side table and picked up my lei and nametag. Then I headed to the bar to grab a margarita. Nan, Susan, Marianne, Justin, Gregg, Bethany. I was trying to remember those who just hugged me up.
I was looking okay. Well, for the most part. Every once in a while my long bangs annoy me and I try to trim. It's obvious that I have no hairdresser skills since when I do the cut my friend Dee says, "If you wanted to look like Mamie Eisenhower, you've succeeded." Ugh.
Two nights before I went upstairs and unearthed my copy of Le Blaireau, our yearbook. Here I had signed up for this gig and suddenly I panicked…WHAT IF I DIDN'T REMEMEBER ANYONE? Yikes. I tried to put names with faces and memories, then finally decided the best approach was to smile and say "Hi. How have you been?"
But it wasn't like that. Names went with faces, especially the eyes, and more people seemed to recall me than I remember even knowing in school. It was one big hugfest.
My school was a wild cross-section of extremely wealthy estate kids, lots of middle people and four farm kids. The farm kids smelled like manure when they got on the bus. They couldn't help it because farmers start their duties at like 4 a.m. Most of us were northern European, mostly English really, with a smattering of southern European, two black Americans, and one Asian chick who brought octopus sandwiches to school. I love swapping with her.
It was a good reunion. Women asked about what you had become. Men told stories. And whoo-hoo the men looked good. They had become men. Some even had wisps of gray hair, very sexy. All of the bald men must have stayed home. Either that or the town's water supply was spiked with Monoxidil.
The women looked good too. All except Zandra. She was one of my art pals and I thought one of the most beautiful women in the entire school. Something happened…genes or a weird life. So sad.
Some people got fat. Or as Michael, one of the organizers put it…"We're just the same, only our faces got wider." He said that patting his cheeks. Face cheeks, not ass cheeks, although I guess that would be true too.
Out of a class of 200 about 50 showed up. Most came stag. There were maybe 6 spouses. About half stayed in town, the others dispersed all over the country. My good friend Kira came all of the way from New Port Richey. Many were still single. The marrieds had 0 to 2 children. Some guy had 4 children. Two high-school sweetheart couples had married shortly after graduation. They were still together.
Hammersley became an attorney. Four people were now doctors, 3 medical, and 1 shrink. Someone is an aerospace something-or-other, and Jamie West is an architect. One of the farm guys invested in communications in the Far East and was now a billionaire. Nancy, my best pal from 7th grade became a Chicago detective. I never saw that coming. Jessica and Josh became teachers. Both are working on Masters. Joe sells insurance and his wife Kelly teaches English at BHS! Pat teaches line dancing. She was such a lunch room terror, heckling everyone. Brianna became a producer in New York after the acting thing fell through. If anyone became a transvestite they forgot to show up. Oh…there is Billy Genuine, he had a band back then, now he's a hypermatic corporate raider. And who remembers Thompson? He looks like a magician. No one remembered him. I swear he crashed the reunion.
Oddly enough neither the student council people, nor the cheerleaders, showed up. Dirk said that was because high school was the highlight of their lives. They went downhill from there. Maybe they were just busy.
I'm not ratting out the woman who got frisky and provocatively rubbed herself while dancing. And don't ask what I saw when I went outside for a smoke. This isn't high school.
Go. Go. Go.
It was a good experience. I would recommend it. You get a barometer on your life. You find out what happened to everyone else who had the same basic high-school education you had?
Late into the night I stood up on the entrance platform and gazed out over the group, my group, and I liked them as a group. We looked good, did good. We were still alive. Except for 10 alums. Someone had made a death board…4 people died from various cancers, 4 committed suicide, and 2 deaths were recent, war-related.
The coolest thing is this: Everyone grew up. All of that class/clique junk evaporated. You are you and you are cool. No more group. Think individual. That's what you always really were anyway.
PostScript: Strange, but true. One week before the reunion I get a call from my brother. He has returned from a hunting trip out west. He ran into Original Boyfriend. O.B. lives out there now and he wants to get in touch with me. Wow! He was high school, my first love. What am I to make of it?
