Nineteen years ago, I graduated from high school. We had a small class - only 154 graduates. One hundred fifty three of us marched down the aisle in the school auditorium on that day in early June. The 154th graduate was pregnant and the administration kept her from marching with the rest of us. That was one example of the prevailing culture in the small south New Jersey Township I lived in at the time. I escaped to California to attend college on an academic scholarship and into a very different culture. I haven't left.
While there I met, married, and had a son with Mary. I found employment in a prominent high tech company where, within five years, I was in management. Between the salary, bonuses and stock options I was able to create an unusually good life in a very challenging environment. In those nineteen years I never strayed, or even thought of straying, on my wife and family - until last week.
About six months ago, I received an invitation to the 20th class reunion of my high school. For no reason, I was homesick for my old friends. I began to wonder where and how they all were. My thoughts returned frequently to the girl I almost married. I wondered what she was doing. I really wanted to go to the reunion.
Mary and I discussed attending the reunion at length. She had no desire to go. She didn't know any of the people I graduated with and she couldn't imagine what it might be like 2500 miles away from California. She had been born in California, raised in California, graduated high school and college in California, married in California and never wanted to leave California. She left little doubt that if I wanted to go to New Jersey, I would have to go alone.
On the other hand, I didn't want to go alone. I wanted Mary along as a buffer between my old colleagues and me. I needed Mary with me to help fill the hours between the scheduled events and I wanted her to learn more about who I was before I met her.
She was adamant. She was not going. She didn't trust anyone from the east coast. It was cold on the east coast. If I wanted to go, I should go, and go alone. She got that it was important to me even if she didn't understand why. Eventually, she wore me down and made me promise to go without her.
The event was well organized. It was to be a three-day event. Friday evening was an informal gathering in a local watering hole where we could reconnect and update each other. Saturday included a tour of our old high school, including lunch, and a dinner dance at the nearby country club. Sunday included a joint church service, a luncheon and an afternoon ball game in Philadelphia. It seemed there was enough to fill my time so I, reluctantly, sent in my reservation with a check to cover all the events.
The reunion committee had also arranged for a block of rooms in the local Holiday Inn. I called and made a reservation for three nights, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I went on-line and arranged to fly to Philadelphia on Friday morning with a return Monday morning. Finally, I arranged for a rental car and time off on Friday and Monday. I was all set.
Mary seemed happy that I was going to the reunion. While it had no appeal for her she knew it did for me. She assured me she would be fine while I was gone. She said it was just like any other business trip I took except it would be over a weekend.
Thursday I packed casual clothing and one business suit for the dinner. Before dawn on Friday I reluctantly left the house, got into the airport limo, and went to San Jose for my flight. Including the connection in Chicago, I spent almost 8 hours flying to Philadelphia. I arrived just after five pm, picked up my luggage, rented a car and drove an hour to the Holiday Inn. After freshening up a little, I drove to the gin mill where the reunion was to begin.
I arrived at the bar about seven-thirty. There were already a few folks that could have been my classmates, present. The place brought back a few memories. Back in the day, we would hang out in the restaurant, ordering hamburgers, fries and cokes. On occasion, if the right bartender was working, we might also score a beer or two. It was also the place I would go with Carol for a bite to eat after a movie at the theater just around the corner.
I maneuvered up to the bar and ordered a bottle of Yuengling. I got the beer, left a twenty on the bar in front of me, and turned around to face the room. I realized I was standing next to Jimmy Calhoun. Jimmy had been our fall quarterback and outstanding spring pitcher. He had been good enough at both sports to play varsity in sophomore year. Several colleges and one major league baseball team had scouted him. The expected scholarship never materialized and finances prevented him from going to college. Before I left for California, I heard he had gone to work at the local lumberyard.
I tapped him on the shoulder and introduced myself. "Hi Jimmy, remember me? Jack Olsen."
It was clear he didn't. We exchanged a few polite words but it was also clear his interest was on an over sexed blonde seated at a nearby table. After a minute or two, I said, "Take it easy Jimmy. I'm going to wander around a little and see who's here." I picked up my change, left two dollars for the bartender, and moved around the bar and into the room.
As I threaded my way around the room, I greeted a half dozen of my former classmates. Most didn't have a clue as to who I was, and the last remembered me as "that geek who screwed up the grading curve." None of them made me glad I had come to the reunion. However, I was determined to stick it out. I was there for a reason even if I didn't know what it was.
I eventually bumped into Roger Moore. He was another high school geek and we had something in common. We competed in most of the advanced math classes and were friends the rest of the time. Roger and I spent time together because few others wanted to spend time with us. We weren't close, but we were what we had. For most of high school, it had been Roger, Kim and I. We were all in the advanced classes and we were all not part of the "in" groups. Of the three of us, I was the only one with a love interest. When we were together, they ribbed me about it. Twenty years later Roger shared that, he had envied me for my romantic relationship.
Roger and I talked for a while and then I moved on. Eventually, after renewing strained relationships with several other classmates, I wandered past a table on the way to the restroom. I pondered over the identity of the woman sitting alone at the table as I stood in front of the urinal. On the way back I remembered her. It was Kim Booth. The same Kim Booth that Roger and I hung with in high school. The Kim Booth I knew was a little overweight, had short unkempt hair, and wore baggy clothes, black sneakers and oversized black framed glasses. This Kim Booth was strikingly beautiful. Long, scapula length, auburn hair, little black dress covering a slender body, magnificent breasts and obscenely perfect legs ending in black pumps. As I passed the table, I questioned, "Kim?"
