In fact, I was set to skip the reunion. It just so happened to fall on the usual date of a big family get together. But since I got on Facebook, I have been truly surprised at the number of folks from HS who have friended me. Some I spent significant amounts of time “growing up” with; others mere acquaintances that I am surprised remember my meager existence.
Morbid curiosity is strong that way, isn’t it? There’s some sort of curiosity to see how everyone turned out. How did that nerd that sat with us in lunch turn out? Are the hot girls still hot? Hell, did any of the quiet girls get hot? And I will admit to having a crush the whole 4 years on a girl. I really hope she shows up to the 20th (she didn’t show for the 10th). If only for her to breathlessly come up to me to say, “O, I knew it was you all along. I have pined for you all these years, saving myself for this fateful evening.” I would then raise my left hand to show her my ring. Nearby, a digital camera would capture the image that would be captioned on Flickr with “The moment a heart breaks. I still cry when I see this pic.” I would even have to rebuff her feeble offer for a handjob out by the dumpster. I would then triumphantly return to my beautiful wife, where she would rebuke my plea for a handjob out by the dumpster.
I have decided to attend the 20th, at the expense of my previous family obligation. I am actually kind of looking forward to it. I would imagine after 20 years, the stereotypes have faded. While I am sure some of the cliques would reunite just out of familiarity, I also hope lots of people who didn’t hang out together in HS hang out a bit here.
The morning of the reunion, I was a bit nervous. All along, I had been looking forward with positive feelings, this was the first real twinge of nervousness. Unfounded fears of cliques reuniting; jocks looking to pants the nerds, etc. I went to the gym to get one last workout in of all the vanity muscles. Yes, I have become that vapid, even if only for one day. I don’t think I will be the only one. So I came back, where T asked me the all important question, “What are you going to wear?” I had a few shirts picked out-some of her favorites-all that were a bit tight, looking to show of that vest of Hulk muscles I bought for Halloween. Instead she picks out a shirt that will need to be ironed. So I pretty much pissed away the morning workout. I could have had my usual big bowl of Lucky Charms with extra sugar and lard, and there would have been no difference. At least I wouldn’t have to spend the whole night sucking my gut in. T then told me what she was going to wear. I had very little input. Damn her, wanting to look all classy and shit.
Good Irish we are, we show up right on time. We don’t fuck around when there’s an open bar. Plus a little social lube would do me good. Right away, I meet 2 old grade school classmates. I guess we learned to be punctual. The bar and room were very nice, lots of space (much nicer than the HS dances at the shitty Knights of Columbus room), and the only way in was via the elevator. You can do some serious drinking in a bar with an elevator. We exchanged pleasantries, followed by what most likely will be the most asked questions at such an occasion; what are you doing these days, where do you live, what have you been up to, were those charges ever dropped, etc.
We realize we are at a prime position. Not only are we barside, but we can clearly see everyone else who comes in. It’s almost like we’re those Muppet judges. I felt like we were on Let’s Make a Deal; “do you know the people at the table, or do you know the people ….behind the door?” All classmates were given stickers with their names on them. I thought it would be funny if I swiped the name of a black classmate. That would really screw with people’s heads. But I was so bad off with not knowing anyone in HS, that I didn’t recognize half the damn names anyway. Spouses didn’t get any badge or recognition. By default, they all became DDs.
Suddenly, it was like a bus dropped everyone off. Old faces started streaming in. It’s really funny how people who I have not thought one iota about in over 20 years would come in, and some sort of glint of recognition would go off in my mind.
Thank god for the tags, because I was only good with their faces. I think everyone felt a bit rude as they walked around. If you didn’t recall someone’s name, you had to take a quick glance at their chest to get their names. “O, Fred, yes, of course, how the hell ya doin’?” But it was a great excuse to check out racks.
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