Reunion

I pull the blue dress down to my knees, the Lily Pulitzer one that I’ve kept since Molly’s graduation from this same high school. The one with the green palm trees and seashells. Looking out across the packed parking lot. Sparkling like rain drops in the October sun, I remember each car. That one, I think to myself as I step out of the passenger side, the sky-blue Jeep with the lift kit, belongs to Brian, the senior quarterback, the prom king. And that little red Prius belongs to that girl who bullied my friend relentlessly, with gay rumors. Oh, God, I say to myself. I don’t even know if I should go anymore, not if they are all the same.

“Hey, you okay?” she asks, her brown eyebrows knitting themselves against a slightly wrinkled forehead. I love her.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be alright. It’s only people in there,” I giggle, saying more so for my sake then hers.

Then I see him, walking in. He takes a fat glob of spit and throws it on the ground with his tongue, right on the pavement, fifteen feet away. I fight the urge to climb back in the car. Instead, with a nod and a gentle slam of the door, I step out of the shadow of the obsolete light pole.

As I draw closer, I realize, that is not him. He walks past, muscles rippling across the thigh and forearms as healthy veins web their way throughout his skin and over his bones. A shock of yellow-white hair drips down his back like an egg cracked over the cranium. But it is not him. It is some teenage boy in volleyball shorts and a Messi jersey. Then I remember how old we are. Thirty years ago, that was him. Now, I am unsure of how he looks, unsure of who he is, as I never got the chance to meet him, talk or connect with him.

And I know I am no spring chicken, either. My pixie cut that I’ve been sporting since my early 20s has been sprinkled with greys. Not to mention, my body. But let's not speak of things we wish we were not.

Either way, they will judge. Even if I did not have this strange curvy body and broad shoulders, with wide feet to match, they would whisper about other things. Such as…who is she? Is she that girl that never talked? That had acne and a small chest? The one who didn’t go to prom, who wouldn’t dance and cheer during pep rallies, who nearly flunked chemistry? Then I realize, why do I even care about those trivial parts of my past? That was a lifetime ago, a child could have been born in that time. I didn’t go through romantic trips to Spain and a book tour to South Dakota to get right back in the same head space as miserable Madeline was all those years ago.

Not to say that I haven’t had my times of loneliness, of self-doubt in those 30 years. Sure, in college, early on. But then I grew with experience, not like some venomous weed, but like a vine, over out and under. With some concord grapes sprouting along the way.

A car alarm goes off briefly, startling me out of my daydreaming. I hear a giggle or two arise from the swollen bellies of three women, strutting towards the open doors of the back entrance. One glances at me, just to snap her head back around and cough loudly.

Alright, time to go. If that’s how they’re gonna be, 10 feet away, imagine what they will be like, staring at me in the face. I don’t even recognize them; how could they remember me? They probably don’t, I say out loud. But there’s always today.

Taking a deep breath, I press on.

Heading in between the open double doors that lead to the gym, the air conditioning gently blows in my face, leaving a misty kiss upon the lips. More giggling, this time from behind me. Oh, God, are they laughing at my ass? I slowly turn as they pass.

“Hey!” The girl from Speech class says, the one that always made me laugh during the presentations, oh, quick! What is her name?!

“Hi-hi!” I blurt out. But they still smile!

Whew, I can do it, we’ve all grown up, we’re all mature now, I say to myself, as I smooth the back of my hair, holding my palm on my neck for a couple more seconds, letting the sweat soak upon the skin.

I take a couple more steps forward, but am intrigued by the hall of fame, directly to my left. Down this hall, lay the belly of the beast. The old gym. No, they couldn’t spare the new one for us, that thing was just breaking ground when I left junior year. I can even hear the call of crows perched atop of the stagnant copper bulldozer outside, next to the antiquated lacrosse field. Click clack go my blue high heels across the chipped brown tile, littered with tattered gold streamers. Click clack. I go past the fattest football coach to ever win a game against a rival team, Fairmont. Past the first girls’ basketball team, then when by the tennis pro, the varsity co-ed captain, Kennedy Poi. The pictures are faded by smoke, riddled with the mold of an old brown leak, plastered and tacked up behind a dusty glass box, that lined the walls with similar shitty memorabilia all the way down.

I drag my finger along the opposite wall, filling my long red nails with dry caulk and grime. 1956. 1989. 1994. All the memories washed away like gold and white face paint, like muddy footprints on the baseball dugout. Yes, these moments fleet away, just like the caps that are flown in ceremony. And although it has been years since I last flew mine, I still feel the rush of the commencement speech- “Do Great Things”, at least, that’s the Reader’s Digest version of it.

And I think I have. I can’t recall all that I have done, though. No, I haven’t climbed Mount Everest, nor have I become a Pulitzer winner, but I have gotten an apartment in Toronto, moved out of a mindset that, in high school, would have killed me if left unattended. But my love, my life, Anita, has aided me and guided me on. I don’t know why she loves me, but goddamn does she do a great job.

I’ve arrived. My foot stops in mid-air, dangling like a dead man. He’s here. She’s there. They’re all here. Everyone from my graduating class has come, in support or stubborn obligation, either way, they’re here.

Suddenly, I am alone, in a damp lit hallway, smelling of rubber pink erasers and Clorox bleach, my pits raw and damp. I am scabby faced with a fat set of cheeks, my pants pinching too tight in the waist. Oh, God, I stop the queasiness from rushing up my throat by placing clammy hands on the stomach. Feeling the fabric of my clothes, I look down, and that same summer print dress smiles back at me. Whew. Okay. I’m ready to walk in.

Aidan, my crush, does a double take in my direction. The music slows as he walks towards me, the peripheral of my view blurs; he is the only clear focused person in my eyes. Just as he gestures for me to hold his hand, strong, like the hands of a farmer’s son, a million hours under the heat of a Midwestern horizon. I follow his arm up to the light blue collar, an ethereal glow gleaming from his skin. Just as he breaks a soft smile to speak to me, the first instance he had ever noticed me-

“Hey!” A honk screams in my ear. I am jerked back to reality like an astronaut on a tether.

“Are you okay?” My sister asks, leaning out of her white 2002 Chevy Impala, the kind with the black tinted windows.

Too startled to speak, I look up to see Aidan, smiling, waving towards me. He’s waving at me! I quickly jerk my hand up, only to have Christina brush past me, and plant a big glob of a kiss on his beautiful cheekbones. The muscles ripple and bulge against the fabric of his brown polo and khaki uniform. They clasp hands and walk off, leaving me like a chunk of clear blue ice, melting on the hot black asphalt.

I tug my sweaty backpack back onto my drooping shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I utter in her direction.

“Hey, chin up, only two and a half more years to go!” She cackles, then slides off in her chipped up car, her shades knocking out of her hand and landing in the backseat. A spout of grey steam burps out of her exhaust pipe.

“Go! What are you waiting for?!” An angry parent yells as I am standing in the parking lot, waiting up the carpool line.