I'm depressed.
I just got back from
the first high school reunion I ever attended. I refuse to say
which one. Not which high school-which year. I don't want anyone
to know. I won't even admit it to myself.
What I will tell you
is that none of my classmates showed up. They sent their grandparents
instead, all of who insisted they had gone to school with me.
No way. I could not relate to those people. They were white-haired
or bald, fat or frail, stooped and lame… None of them bore the
slightest resemblance to the yearbook pictures reproduced on their
nametags. (Whose fiendish idea was that?!) That's what clinched
it—proved they were frauds. I, on the other hand, look exactly
the same as I did back then. Well, almost, except for a few interesting
character lines which only enhance my youthful charm.
In fact, all the elderly
people I talked with gasped when I told them my name. They all
reacted the same way, their gazes shifting in disbelief from my
face to my yearbook picture on my nametag. Obviously, they were
astonished at how little I've changed. Nothing else could explain
their incredulity. Of course, I tried to be kind and commented
on how well the years had treated them. I didn't consider such
flattery to be lies but, rather, acts of mercy. Poor things. God
knows they can't often hear that. To be truthful, I don't hear
it much myself. I'm sure people compliment me all the time (after
all, how could they not?), but they mumble so badly that they're
hard to understand.
My girl friend Jeannie
was at the reunion. (Yes—I said "girl" friend; there's no
need to snicker. Don't think I didn't hear you doing that before,
though I can't imagine why.) Jeannie couldn't wait to see Frank,
the handsome hunk we had all swooned over in high school. (Yes,
in those days we swooned—do I hear you snickering again?
That's very rude.) I had bumped into him earlier. I pointed him
out to her. "That's Frank, over there; the one with the walker."
Jeannie gasped. "He's old!" Well, duh! What did she expect?
Frank is wrinkled, his once lean body has turned into cookie dough,
and his teeth click when he talks. But at least he doesn't have
white hair. He doesn't have any hair.
When Jeannie recovered
from her initial shock, she gamely approached him to reintroduce
herself. "Frank! You're as handsome as ever!" she gushed. (Yeah,
we used to gush, as well as swoon.) "Why, thank you!" beamed Frank,
the old twinkle returning to his eyes for a moment. "I'd like
you to meet my granddaughter," he said, calling a lovely lass
to his side. Jeannie turned to her, "Your grandfather used to
be so cute!" she gushed again. Frank stopped beaming. "Used to
be?" he croaked. "Whatever happened to 'as handsome as ever'?"
"Excuse me," said Jeannie,
trying to extract her foot from her mouth, "I just spotted Andy
Harrington over there. I went to the junior prom with him! I'm
going over to say hello." I didn't have the heart to tell her
that Andy was the feeble geezer clutching the bar to keep from
falling. The guy she was rushing toward was a teen-aged bus boy.
As I was trying to
restore Frank's wounded pride, another of the elderly party crashers
approached me, squinting at my nametag. "I remember you," he said,
"you were in my typing class." "No," I said, "I never took typing
in high school." "Yeah, you did," he insisted, miffed. And he
shuffled away to squint at another woman's nametag. Maybe it was
just a clever ploy to stare at bosoms. On second thought, there
wasn't a bosom in the room worth staring at, other than mine;
but I'm much too modest to mention that.
Just then, the pianist
whom the reunion committee had hired started tickling the ivories—As
Time Goes By, Those Were the Days, Silver Threads
Among the Gold…He had an endless repertoire of melancholy
melodies. I had a sudden yearning for heavy metal, even though
I hate it. As he played, a few couples teetered across the floor,
holding each other up, apparently trying to pretend they were
back in the old crepe-paper-decorated gymnasium.
After an hour or so
of this charade, the MC mercifully asked everyone to please be
seated. Dinner was about to be served. I prayed that the meal
wouldn't consist of soup, pureed veggies, and Jello. On the other
hand, if it was solid food, I worried about how most of the group
would deal with it. It would not be pretty. I hoped a contingent
of EMTs was standing by.
I vowed never to attend
another reunion.
