Back to School
When Gloria Barkin removed the stack of circulars and letters from out of the mailbox, one item, a linen textured envelope, stood out from the others. Her husband's name and address were beautifully written on it in gold ink by a skilled calligraphist. Surprisingly, there was no return address, either in the upper left-hand corner or on the flap on the reverse side.
"You have mail," she announced to her husband when she entered the house.
"It's not a bill, I hope."
She handed him the envelope and replied, "I think it's an invitation."
"Oh? How can you tell? You didn't open it."
"That's expensive, high-quality paper. My guess is it's either a greeting card or an invitation."
As Kurt Barkin opened the flap, his wife took note of the gold foil lining inside the envelope.
"Classy," she declared. "It reminds me of the Christmas cards my uncle's law firm used to send out to its clients."
Kurt removed the card from the envelope and read it aloud: "You and your guest are cordially invited to attend your twenty-five-year high school reunion to be held on Saturday, April 13, at 7:00 p.m. in the grand ballroom of the Merrywood Inn and Conference Center, located on Route 71 in Pineland, PA."
"A high school class reunion—how exciting!" Gloria exclaimed.
Her husband expressed no such enthusiasm. Rather, he stared at the invitation with a troubled expression on his face.
"What's the matter, honey?"
"I don't remember anything about high school—not the teachers, the other students or even the building itself. It's as though those years of my life were swept away."
It was not only his high school days that he could not recall. Kurt had very few recollections of his childhood. This memory loss was physiological rather than psychological in nature. Just days after his high school graduation—which he had no memory of—he and his parents were involved in a car accident. His mother and father were both killed. After extensive surgery, Kurt survived, but the damage to his brain stripped him of most of his memories.
"I think we should go," his wife declared.
"Why? People will be there looking forward to reminiscing with old friends, but everyone will be like a complete stranger to me."
"How do you know that there won't be some inkling of recognition that might trigger your brain to remember something?"
Kurt was silent for several minutes. Then he faced his wife with a pathetic, imploring look in his eyes.
"I'm afraid," he whimpered. "You don't know how much I've wanted to remember my past. For years I've racked my brain trying to get even the smallest glimmer. It's been torture. I don't want to get my hopes up again."
"Then don't. Go with the intention of simply having a good time. Think of it as meeting new people instead of old friends."
"I don't know. I just ...."
Gloria took her husband's hand in hers, and his fears seemed to fade away.
"You have nothing to be worried about. I'll be right there by your side."
"Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Then I'll RSVP and make the necessary hotel reservations tomorrow. I can't wait to see if any woman shows up claiming to have been your high school sweetheart."
"Only one?" Kurt laughed, hoping to project cheerful self-confidence for his wife's sake. "I hope that in four years, I managed to date at least a dozen."
* * *
In the five-week period between receiving the invitation to his class reunion and the date of the event itself, Kurt experienced a marked change in his health. There were no specific symptoms that would require a visit to his doctor or to the nearby clinic. He did not have a fever, a sore throat, an upset stomach, a stuffed head or congestion in his chest.
"I just feel blah," he told his wife over dinner one evening. "I have no energy. What's that old saying? 'My get up and go got up and went.'"
"It sounds to me like you're coming down with something."
"Whatever it is, it seems to be taking its own sweet time."
"Well, you better not get sick," Gloria jokingly warned him. "I'm looking forward to going to your reunion. I've been cooped up inside this house all winter long and need to get away before cabin fever sets it."
"This won't be a vacation," her husband laughed. "It's not that far from here to Pineland, only about a two-hour drive, depending on traffic."
"I know. I figure we'll leave here in the morning, drive at a nice, leisurely pace, stop for breakfast and lunch on the road, go to your reunion and then stay over and return the next day. I've booked us a room at the Harmony Lodge. It costs a little more than the Merrywood, but it's got an indoor pool and sauna."
By the morning of the thirteenth, Kurt's health neither improved nor worsened.
Maybe a couple of hours in the sauna will do me good, he thought.
When the Barkins crossed the New Jersey-Pennsylvania border at the Delaware Water Gap Bridge, the weather forecast changed from cold but clear to scattered flurries.
"Isn't that nice of Old Man Winter to send a little snow our way?" Gloria asked. "I thought it was supposed to be spring."
"We usually get at least one snowfall in April. I remember the year after we got married we had eighteen inches in the middle of the month."
"Let's hope we don't get that much."
The flurries worsened, and by the time the couple reached Pineland, there were three to four inches on the ground. While Kurt did not have any trouble driving in his Subaru, other cars were not as fortunate. Several times he had to swerve to avoid colliding with fishtailing or stuck vehicles. He was relieved when he finally pulled into the Harmony Lodge's parking lot.
"Thank God we made it in one piece!" Gloria exclaimed.
Her husband made no comment, nor did he make any attempt to get out of the car.
"Have you got any Excedrin in your purse?" he asked.
"What's wrong?"
"My head is killing me."
"Do you have a fever?"
"No. It's probably nothing more than a tension headache from driving in this bad weather."
"I think I have a bottle of Advil in my overnight bag. After we check in, we'll go to the room and you can take two with a glass of water."
Gloria walked into the office where a pleasant-looking, middle-aged man stood behind the front desk.
"Welcome to Harmony Lodge," he said cheerfully. "My name is Claude. How can I help you?"
"I have a reservation," she announced.
"What's the name?"
"Gloria Barkin."
"Here it is. Two adults. One night. Is that correct?"
"Yes. Here's my Visa card."
As the hotel clerk processed her payment, she tried to engage him in the fine art of small talk.
"We're here in Pineland to attend a high school class reunion," she said.
"Barkin? Are you related ...?"
The clerk, who seemed to suddenly be at a loss for words, averted his eyes.
"Forgive me," he apologized. "If you are a relative, it must be upsetting for you to talk about the tragedy."
"Actually, I never had the chance to meet my in-laws," she said, assuming Claude was referring to the fatal car accident that had occurred twenty-five years earlier. "They were already dead by the time I met my husband."
"Husband?" the clerk echoed.
"Yes, Kurt Barkin," she said, nodding in the direction of the man who stood with two suitcases near the doorway. "It was his parents who died in the crash."
The middle-aged clerk lost all color in his face, and his hand trembled when he handed her the key.
"That'll be Room 237 on the second floor."
"Thank you."
"What was that all about?" her husband asked, having overheard fragments of the conversation.
"He was about to ask me about your family, but then he changed his mind. I guess he thought the subject would upset me."
If he knew about my parents, maybe he knew me, too, he thought. We could have gone to school together or lived on the same block. Hell, we might even have been on the same Little League team—assuming I played baseball as a boy.
The more Kurt tried to make a connection to his past, the more his head ached.
"It's only half past three," he said when Gloria opened the door to their room and he carried the suitcases inside. "I think I'll lie down for a while before the reunion."
No sooner did his head hit the pillow than he promptly fell asleep. While Kurt napped, his wife put on her swimsuit and went in search of the pool.
* * *
"You had a nice sleep," Gloria observed when she got back to their room and found her husband just waking up. "How's your head?"
"Much better," Kurt replied, reaching over to the nightstand for his glasses. "What time is it?"
"It's quarter to six."
"Where have you been?"
"At the pool. I wanted to swim a while longer, but I have to take a shower, dry my hair and get dressed. Maybe I'll have time after the reunion or tomorrow morning before we leave."
"I wonder how the food is at this place."
"Hopefully better than the greasy burgers we had for lunch."
Kurt was disappointed to see that it was still snowing outside. Thankfully, he had only a short distance to drive. Once he got behind the wheel of the Forester, he felt the muscles in the back of his neck tighten.
Oh, no, he thought. I hope my headache doesn't come back.
He started the engine, pulled out of the hotel parking lot and headed north on Route 71.
"It ought to be around here somewhere," he announced after driving for three miles.
"It looks like that might be it up ahead."
Kurt pulled into a parking space, turned off the engine and sat staring at the Merrywood Inn.
"I don't ever recall being here," he said, confusion clouding his face. "And yet ...."
"If you lived in the area and went to school here, you must have passed by this place many times, perhaps every day."
"Damn it! I wish I could remember!"
"Come on, honey. Let's go inside. It's cold out here."
"Watch your step," he cautioned as they crossed the snow-covered pavement.
"There aren't many cars here," Gloria observed, "but then people are bound to be late given the weather conditions."
The Barkins walked into the lobby where a sign pointed them in the direction of the grand ballroom.
"Looks like we're the first ones here," her husband said, his voice echoing in the empty room.
"I don't see any name cards on the tables, so I guess we can sit anywhere."
"You choose."
"Over there by the window," she decided. "That way we can see everyone when they come into the ballroom."
Once the couple chose a seat, Gloria felt the need to visit the ladies' room.
"I'll be right back," she told her husband and left him alone at the table.
A few moments after she vanished from sight, another guest entered the ballroom. Although the woman ignored Kurt as if he were not there, he experienced an exhilarating spark of recognition.
That's Clarise Mowry, he told himself. She was homecoming queen during our senior year. As I recall, she was a snob back in high school, and it doesn't look like she's changed much.
A second person entered the room, a man. The newcomer saw Clarise sitting alone at a table just to the right of the entrance and took a seat beside her.
Wally Van Patten.
The name came to Kurt without any effort.
Wally was the pitcher on the school's baseball team. Good at sports but dumb as a rock.
He was not surprised that the former jock did not acknowledge his presence. Kurt always thought Van Patten was a jerk. Still, he was encouraged by the return of another memory.
I'm glad I came to this reunion.
The next two guests to enter the ballroom came as a couple. They, too, sat at the table with Clarise and Wally.
Felice Pyle and Bruce Niven. I suppose they got married after graduation. After all, they started dating in the seventh grade.
Kurt could not wait for his wife to return from the ladies' room. She would be overjoyed when he told her of his recovered memories.
The next person to walk through the door was not one he immediately recalled. It took several minutes of concentration to put a name to the face. Putting forth a little effort brought excellent results, though.
Ben Edgehill. What a nerd! Straight A's. President of the computer and chess clubs. Always won first prize at the regional science fairs. I heard he planned on attending MIT. Oh, and there's Jenna Tunis, he thought as a sixth person took a seat at the table. She was the class slut, or at least that was her reputation. More than likely, one of the boys she dated wanted to brag and exaggerate about his own sexual prowess, at Jenna's expense.
Kurt did not think it peculiar that the six former classmates looked much the same as they did in high school. In twenty-five years, one of them ought to have gained weight or gone bald. What he did find odd was the fact that Gloria had not yet returned from the ladies' room.
Maybe she had trouble finding it. I'm sure she'll be back any moment now.
Two more people walked through the ballroom doorway, neither of which was his wife.
Gary Bayler and Milt Kluger, the co-captains of the football team. Why am I not surprised they showed up together. They were inseparable since grade school.
The eight people sitting around the table at the right of the doorway were inexplicably quiet, especially for what was supposed to be an enjoyable social occasion. None of them were telling jokes or enjoying anecdotes from their youth. While Kurt did not expect them to cross the room to his table and talk to him, he wondered why they did not speak to each other.
Not long after the football players took a seat, three more former students arrived. Given their lack of popularity at school, it was surprising they would have wanted to attend the reunion.
I'd be amazed if any of those three even graduated.
Mary Beth Reston was a minister's daughter, but there was nothing remotely religious about her. She was a notorious drinker, who smoked pot whenever the opportunity presented itself. There was even talk that she had an abortion in her sophomore year. Of the two young men with her, Lenny Dyson was as close to a juvenile delinquent as Pineland would get. He was a troublemaker and a punk, who was always getting into fights.
I remember when he stole a Walkman out of someone's locker and got suspended for three days. He's lucky he wasn't arrested for petty theft.
Dean Albertson, Mary Beth's second companion, was the school weirdo. Pineland High School did not have much of a Gothic population, but it had Dean, who always dressed in black. He also dyed his hair, painted his fingernails and wore eye makeup—all the same dark color as his clothes.
He looked like a zombie back then; now he acts like one.
In stark contrast to the last person to enter the ballroom, the next one was like a ray of sunshine. Valerie MacNaughton was quick to laugh and always seemed to be in a perpetual good mood.
I can't remember a single time I saw her when she wasn't smiling. And she never had an unkind word to say about anyone.
Kurt recalled a time in their freshman year when he had a major crush on Valerie.
I was so shy, though. I could never work up the courage to ask her out. I wish ....
All thoughts of the pretty Valerie fled Kurt's mind when the next person walked into the ballroom.
Frank Haver!
The name brought an immediate smile to his face. However, there was no reciprocal smile on Frank's part. Still, the most recent arrival headed across the room toward the window and took a seat next to his one-time best friend.
"It's so good to see you again!" Kurt exclaimed.
It was as though there had been no accident, no brain injury and no loss of memory.
"Are you here alone?" he asked but received no answer. "You never married? Speaking of which, I can't wait to introduce you to my wife. I wonder where she is. She went to the ladies' room but that had to have been twenty minutes ago. Wait! There she is."
He stood and waved his hand in the direction of the doorway.
"Over here, Gloria," he called excitedly. "There's someone I want you to meet."
Before Gloria could take a step in her husband's direction, the lights flickered off, on and then off again.
I hope someone didn't slide on the ice and crash into a utility pole, he thought.
A moment later, the lights returned. However, all eighteen tables in the ballroom of the Merrywood Inn and Conference Center had vanished, replaced by a room full of long tables and benches often found in school cafeterias.
"What's going on?" Kurt asked, his headache returning with a vengeance.
The room seemed to change before his eyes. Posters suddenly appeared on the wall, congratulating the class of ninety-three on their upcoming graduation and announcing that senior prom tickets were on sale.
"Where am I?"
"Don't you remember this place?" Clarise Mowry asked, heading in his direction.
"No. I've never been here before," Kurt insisted, fighting not only the pain in his head but also the fear that was threatening to consume him as twelve former classmates surrounded him.
"This place—the Merrywood Inn—was built twenty-two years ago on the grounds of what used to be Pineland High School," Milt Kluger explained.
"They tore the school down," Gary Bayler added. "But I guess you didn't know that either."
"No, I didn't."
"Stop lying to yourself, man," Mary Beth Reston said.
"Yeah," Lenny Dyson joined in. "Enough with that car accident bullshit."
As the twelve formerly silent students—now appearing as they had in April of 1993—closed in on him, a terrified Kurt Barkin called for his spouse. However, she was nowhere to be found.
"And you used to call me dumb," Wally Van Patten reminded him. "You don't even realize you have no wife."
"That's not true. Gloria and I have been married for more than twenty years. We live in a three-bedroom raised ranch in New Jersey."
Clarise Mowry and Bruce Niven stepped aside and Gloria stood between them. Unlike the others, her appearance had not changed. She still looked like a middle-aged woman.
"My name is Trautmann, not Barkin. Miss Gloria Trautmann. I'm not your wife. I was your history teacher."
"No! Why are you saying that? Why are all of you lying?"
Kurt's eyes were drawn to Frank Haver's.
"You're my best friend. Won't you tell me what's going on?" he pleaded.
"Open your eyes and look," Frank told him.
"They are open."
"He's looking, but he's not seeing," Valerie MacNaughton clarified, a sad smile on her pretty face.
An excruciating stab of pain across his forehead nearly blinded Kurt, and his hands went up to his temples. Within moments the pain vanished.
Thirteen people, Gloria Trautmann among them, were lying on the floor, surrounded by puddles of blood and gore. To Kurt's horror, the high school cafeteria had become an abattoir.
"What the hell?"
"Welcome to Pineland High School," Frank announced, "as it was on April 13, 1993."
"What happened here?"
"We happened. You and I. We came to school that day with semiautomatic weapons, and we did this."
"No. It can't be true. I would never ...."
"You and I made a suicide pack. We were going to go out in a blaze of glory, and we wanted to take as many people with us as possible."
Flashes of images flooded his overwhelmed mind: he and Frank Haver randomly shooting classmates while around them screaming teenagers fled the school in panic. Miss Trautmann, the teacher assigned to lunchroom duty that day, had tried to stop them.
"Gloria," he sobbed, recalling false memories of a wife he never had. "I didn't have anything against Miss Trautmann. She was a good teacher, always fair and willing to help."
Kurt then turned to face his former best friend and co-conspirator, searching for a small measure of comfort in the young man's blue eyes. What he saw was a blank expression on Frank's face and a bullet hole in his forehead, directly above the nose.
"I couldn't do it," Frank confessed. "I shot Felice, Bruce, Jenna and Ben; yet when it came to killing myself, I chickened out. I wanted to surrender to the police, but you wouldn't let me. Instead, you pointed your gun at me and pulled the trigger."
"And me?" Kurt asked.
The question echoed in the air since there was no one left alive to answer.
* * *
The news spread quickly through the small town of Pineland, Pennsylvania. By the afternoon of April 14, nearly every resident had heard it. Claude Rumford, the front desk clerk at Harmony Lodge, heard it from Deedee Gaveston, the young woman who worked in reservations.
"Did you hear what happened? Kurt Barkin died last night," she informed her coworker when she reported for her shift.
"No, I didn't. I always wondered what became of him."
"It seems ever since the shootings, he's been in an institution in Harrisburg."
"He should have died twenty-five years ago," Claude said. "A teacher and thirteen students were killed, and yet he survived!"
"If you call being in a persistent vegetative state surviving."
"At least Frank Haver got what was coming to him. Barkin, the bastard, shot himself in the head and didn't die. I hope there's a special place in hell for him."
"If there is any justice in this world," Deedee suggested, "he'll have to come face to face with his victims in the hereafter."
"It's funny, but a woman checked in here last night, and I could have sworn she told me her name was Gloria Barkin. But when I looked at the name on her credit card receipt, I realized it was Larkin with an 'L.' Still, it gave me the creeps when she said she was in town for her husband's class reunion."
"That is creepy," Deedee agreed. "Especially when you consider Kurt Barkin died on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Pineland High School shootings."
Salem graduated obedience school in '93 — 1693, that is.
