What did come was the reunion. It was a tacky affair, only being 10 years removed from graduation. I'd never heard of a 10-year reunion. My high school didn't get back together until our 20th, and by then we'd all grown older and wiser and no one was still living in the 12th grade.
The 10th reunion of the Charlotte Christian Academy's class of '91 was different. It was if everyone was still in high school. The guys all hung out in corners of the gym, sipping from hip flasks. The faint smell of pot hung in the air.
A band played 90s music, badly, and every few minutes a platinum blonde, presumably the class president, would make some cheesy announcement or urge more dancers to get off their butts and dance.
Mel and I walked in about an hour after it started, fashionably late, and she was immediately ambushed by old friends, mostly girls. We joined another couple, Cathy and John or Cindy and Jimmy, I don't remember, and let the girls walk down memory lane.
My wife was animated, but also wary of something or someone. She would listen to Cathy or Cindy, but she was constantly looking around the gym with an odd look on her face. I mostly watched her, smiled and nodded when prompted or introduced to all the people who stopped to talk to Mel.
She was quite popular, and I think she was having a good time, but her mood was a mixture of joy and caution. I asked if she'd like to dance, and she didn't even hear me. But then her friend convinced to take to the dance floor, them not me.
I shrugged and watched them walk to the middle of the basketball court and join the dancers in the electric slide. Again, I could sense some apprehension in Mel's demeanor, checking her back every time the lines moved. At some point, the husband I'd been left with said something and I turned to hear what he said. I'm, not sure what he was talking about, because I couldn't hear him over the music.
When I turned back around to watch Mel, she was gone. Her girlfriend was still dancing, but there was an opening in the line where my wife had been 15 seconds earlier. I scanned the dance floor, then the line at the punch table, the dark corners where the shy or non-dancers mingled. She was nowhere to be found.
I assumed she'd gone to the bathroom or something, so I didn't worry until 10 minutes had passed. I excused myself from the table and went looking for Mel,
I left the gym and walked into a dim hallway where I noticed a guy arguing with a woman in the shadows. He was gesturing wildly with his arms and the woman seemed to cower. Then I realized it was my wife.
I walked briskly toward them, some 20 or 30 yards away, neither of them noticing me until I was a few feet away when the man grabbed Mel's arm and she pulled away, looking up in time to see my fist fly into the guy's face, knocking him out cold with one punch.
He crumpled onto the floor, blood pouring from his nose as I hugged my crying wife.
"Get me out of here," she said.
The ride home was quiet for several minutes before Mel tried to talk. She was still upset, tears falling as she struggled to explain what I'd just seen.
"Tha, um, that was my old, um, boyfriend," she stuttered. "It's a long story."
"I've got all night," I said, reaching over the touch her. It was as if I'd shocked her. She jumped and then apologized.
"It's not easy talking about this," she said. "I had no idea he'd be there. He moved out of state a few years ago. But once I got there, I don't know, I could just feel his presence. Didn't you see him pull me away?"
"No," I said. "I was listening to your girlfriend's husband babbling. What happened?"
She shook her head and put her hands over her eyes.
"James, I am so sorry this happened."
She looked out the window into the darkness. I considered touching her again to reassure her, but she seemed to coil into a ball, her arms holding her knees tightly to her chest as she stared out the window.
A minute or so passed before she mumbled "where are we?"
I shook my head and shrugged.
"I don't know, South Carolina maybe."
Another long silence...
"Where did you learn to fight like that?"
I chortled.
"That was no fight, babe. That was a punch."
"A punch?" she asked, finally turning to face me.
