Hannah Morris waited her turn at the folding table set up outside the small ballroom. Off to the left, an oversized placard rested on an easel, identifying the check in station for the brunch honoring the Belles of Central Valley High. On the other side of the table, right by the entrance to the inner room, was a large wall mounted mirror designed to allow guests to make a final check of their appearance before attending their function. Even though she had checked herself carefully before leaving her room, the twenty-six year old couldn't help checking again.
The invitation, she recalled, had said casual, but casual could mean different things to different people. She'd attended casual events where people had shown up in jeans and t-shirts. Figuring she couldn't go wrong with a nice sundress, that was what she decided on, and from the looks of the women around her it had been a good choice. The bright yellow of her dress complemented her skin and balanced out nicely with the diamond pendant her parents had given her for high school graduation. Her legs were freshly shaved and she'd completed the outfit with matching open toed shoes. That just left her mid-back length black hair, which she considered tying back, but let it just hang loose instead.
She hadn't recognized any of the three women in front of her in the line, one of whom had already finished her registration and was headed for the ballroom entrance. Hannah's line of sight followed her into the room in search of someone that she did recognize. To her disappointment, but not her expectation, none of the dozen or so women she could see from her vantage point looked the least bit familiar either. So far this weekend, that had proven the norm, and not for the first time she regretted having come down from San Francisco to attend the Reunion, when she could instead be preparing for the court case she was second chairing next week.
Originally, when the invitation from the Alumni Committee had come two months ago, Hannah had simply tossed it unopened into her junk mail drawer. Homecoming, as the school liked to call it, wasn't something she had any interest in. But then, just two weeks ago, she'd gotten a call from Deborah Young, the girl who'd been her best and, she sometimes thought, her only real friend at Central Valley, inquiring if she was going. When she said that she wasn't planning on it, her old friend had implored her to change her mind and go to Homecoming with her. Now that Deborah's divorce decree had become final, she really couldn't bear to go alone.
When that didn't work, Deborah laid down the guilt card, reminding Hannah that when her own two year old relationship had come apart last fall, she'd dropped everything and gone north to help her through the worst of it. The least she could do was return the favor.
"Oh come on, it's our ten year reunion," Deborah had persisted. "How can you not come home for that? Besides, Tommy is going to have the kids that weekend and this girl needs to get out and enjoy herself for a change. Please say you'll come."
In the end, Hannah had said that she would.
The truth was, aside from her academic success, Hannah had few happy memories of Central Valley High, and even fewer classmates, male or female, that she wished to renew acquaintance with - Deborah, of course, being the notable exception. Most of the other students looked at her as being a bit different, some would even say strange. Part of that was due to the fact that she was always two years younger than everyone else in her classes, the result of having skipped grades in both elementary and middle school. Then, there was the other thing, the secret that she'd never even told Deborah about - well, at least, not back then.
Even among the Belles, the school's honor society for women that she'd been inducted into at the end of her freshman year, Hannah never made any real friends. By the time other girls her age made the list, she was already a senior and at best most were usually sophomores. The social gap between the grades was too vast to preclude anything more than casual associations.
The young man at the table, who Hannah assumed was another one of the local college students the vacation resort hired for weekend events, finished with the woman ahead of her and, with a cheerful smile, asked for Hannah's name and anniversary class. Finding it on one of the color coded clipboards, he had her sign next to her printed name, then handed her a small printout of the day's scheduled events, along with a listing of the resort's amenities that were available to the alumni.
As Hannah stepped away from the table and walked toward the small ballroom, she passed the mirror by the entranceway. Out of the corner of her eye, she was surprised to see that, instead of turning his attention to the next guest in line, the teenager at the table was checking out her ass as she walked away. She was tempted for a moment to give it a little wiggle, just to let him know he'd been caught looking. Then she thought better of the idea and simply disappeared through the doorway.
'Hope you got a good look, kid,' Hannah thought with a silent chuckle, 'cause that's as close to this ass as you'll ever get.'
The incident was then forgotten as Hannah moved off to the side of the room and checked the program she had been given to see what table she was at. No sooner had she looked up again when a waitress, another college student, was at her side asking if she would like a mimosa.
"Sure, why not," Hannah replied, folding the sheets of paper in her hand before slipping them into her handbag.
Taking a drink from the tray, Hannah traded smiles with the short haired blonde before she turned her attention to another guest. Right behind her came another server with a tray of appetizers. Whatever else you could say about Homecoming, the attendees certainly were getting value for their money.
In fact, it was Hannah's opinion that it was the resort itself that drew most of the alumni to Homecoming rather than any desire to reconnect with old classmates. After all, she'd read once in the alumni newsletter that most Central Valley graduates still lived within an hour's drive from the campus, allowing ample opportunity to keep in touch with former classmates if they so desired.
Most schools in the region usually held their class reunions in the school gym, the event being either a dinner or dance. Up until about thirty years ago, that had also been the norm for Central Valley. That was when Howard Reeves Jr., class of '53, had attended his twenty-fifth reunion and came away feeling disappointed.
A highly successful hotel entrepreneur, Mr. Reeves credited Central Valley with starting him on the road to success and already had a history of generous contributions to the school. Starting the year after his twenty-fifth reunion, however, he totally outdid himself by making his premier resort available at cost for both the senior prom and Homecoming - cost being defined by him as what it would've cost to hold either in the gym.
Additionally, he also offered greatly reduced rates to any alumni staying at the resort during Homecoming. Whether he also offered a similar discount to the senior class the night of prom was something he declined to answer with anything other than a mischievous grin.
But all good things eventually come to an end. At eighty-one and in poor health, Howard Reeves had already turned over most of his business interests to his oldest son and heir, saving only the resort for himself. Alexander Howard Reeves, who had gone to private school at the insistence of his mother, didn't share his father's sense of obligation to his alma mater. So the days of practically free wine and song were unlikely to continue once the family elder went to his well deserved reward - at least in their present form. The school could continue to book the resort for functions, the new company president had said on multiple occasions, but at existing market rates. With that in mind, everyone wanted to take advantage of what they could, while they could.
-=-=-=-
Since Hannah had been a late respondee, she hadn't been seated with the other Belles of the class of '06 - that table was already full. Which was just as well, she thought, as that meant that she only had to make a perfunctory appearance there to make her manners. A place at the orphans' table with other last minute attendees, or alumni from classes that didn't have enough representatives for a full table, was good enough for her.
By a quirk of fate, Hannah, who was the youngest Belle attending, was seated next to Lorena Hamilton, who at sixty-seven was the oldest. Technically, there weren't any Belles back in the mid-sixties when Mrs. Hamilton had been a student, but anyone who would've qualified had been added to the rolls in later years, if only to put the Belles on equal footing with other school associations as far as soliciting alumni donations was concerned.
With a forty-one year difference in their ages, it might be thought that Hannah and Lorena would find little in common. Much to their mutual surprise, the reverse proved to be true. Lorena had been a woman ahead of her time and found in the younger a kindred soul. Hannah had been greatly impressed when, in response to a comment another woman at the table made about San Francisco after it had come up in conversation, Lorena had quickly and strongly put the woman in her place.
"My family used to love vacationing in San Francisco," the alumni of the class of '76 had said, "but now it's all gays and degenerates who have just ruined a beautiful city."
It wasn't lost on anyone else on the table that she'd meant the second as a definition of the first.
"Are you really so stupid as to think that?" Lorena quickly retorted. "I'll have you know my grandson is gay and I couldn't be prouder of him, or the man he married."
Having expected agreement from her peers, not derision, the woman barely made another comment the rest of the brunch. Which was fine by Hannah, as it gave her more of a chance to exchange views with Lorena. Over great food and a few more mimosas than might have been prudent, the two became fast friends.
So it was a bit disappointing when, once the servers began to remove the now empty plates, Lorena said that, having come only for the brunch, she had to leave for an appointment she just couldn't break. The two exchanged numbers and promised to have lunch again the next time Hannah was back in town. Strange, Hannah thought as she watched the older woman leave, how well she got along with someone who graduated before she'd even been born, but couldn't spend five minutes longer than she had in chatting with her contemporaries.
Hannah waited until at least one other woman at the table got up to leave before saying her own goodbyes. When she had first come into the ballroom, she'd noticed tables set up in the back, displaying various memorabilia. Initially, they held no interest for her, but now, having spent well over an hour chatting with Lorena about what it was like during the old days, her curiosity drew her to the exhibit.
Most of the memorabilia were the sort of things Hannah remembered seeing in the trophy cases outside the school auditorium, old textbooks, various academic and sports awards - nothing that really interested her. The last table, however, held an assortment of framed photographs, one of which one immediately drew her attention. It was from an awards ceremony she remembered from early in her senior year. Standing almost in the center of a group of Belles was a younger version of herself.
Picking up the 8x10, Hannah examined it closely. She had practically no photos from that time in her life; a small basement fire in her parents' house while she was away at college had destroyed most of her personal mementos, including her high school yearbook. Not that there had been many photos to begin with; after all, it wasn't like today where everyone carried a camera-equipped phone and documented everything in their life.
The face in the photo didn't look all that much different than the one that had looked back at her in the bathroom mirror this morning. She had been so young back in high school, not even turning seventeen until the summer after graduation. But even if the face had hardly changed, the woman behind it certainly had.
She had grown so much in the years since Central Valley, even if she still looked much like the girl she was. The Hannah of today bore little resemblance beyond the physical to the one she was looking at. As she placed the photo back on the table, she allowed herself a bit of speculation and wondered, if it were possible, what advice she wished she could've given to her younger self.
The answer, she thought, was obvious. It was the simple truth that, once she came to believe it, allowed everything else in her life to fall into place.
