“Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world…
I hear Steve continue singing, but it is barely registering. The mental images are already beginning to dance around in my head, and Steve becomes a background soundtrack to some memories I am playing out from somewhere back thirty years or so ago. Sometimes it’s the first time I heard the song, and sometimes it was the time it was playing when it was just me and that someone and that moment.
But that memory kind of fades a little and the music resumes the forefront of my thoughts as Neil Schon’s guitar builds into a crescendo and the song takes off with all its momentum. The song itself has taken back over now, and I begin to swim in a fusion of the way I felt in my youth, the music, nostalgia, all with the little added twist my years add to it.
And that’s the way I think it’s going to feel: the reunion.
Maybe, with a little anticipation, you’ve done the same thing. You’ve dug up some of your old tunes that you’ve not listened to in a while and given them another spin. You’re wondering what it is you’re going to look your best in wearing, what will least betray whatever the years may have done to you. You’re wondering who will be there, maybe even checking the list of confirmed guests or paid dinner reservations every so often. Maybe there is a name or two that you really, really hope will be there, even though you’ve never spoken their name to anyone.
It’s okay. I think we’ve all been there with you. Go ahead and give in to it a little. I know I’ve been there myself. I will admit I am looking forward to it. I think all of us already on board for this have expectations and anticipations. The mini-reunion of last year only whetted our appetites and got us motivated to plan something bigger, better, for this year. We had a blast.
But, this year would have to be classified as more of an event, where last year was more of an impromptu get-together. This year, we have a hotel, and dinner, complete with presentations, good food, and music. There is a warm-up the night before with a Komen fundraiser over beers and a baseball game, and a chance to play golf together that morning. The cappers, on Sunday, will give Harley enthusiasts a chance to get in a ride, and for all of us who are able, a chance to show off our families at the picnic that afternoon.
Lately I have been thinking about what I am expecting and hoping for and anticipating at the reunion. I’ve taken inventory.
A chance to see people I have not seen in a very long time. There will be people there I have not spoken to since we all roamed the halls at Park Hill, and just as many that I have only spoken to online over these last few months. Some of these people I’ve only been able to wonder about now and then, imagining to myself they are still alive and out there somewhere, doing something that makes them happy. It will be good to get confirmation of that.
A few laughs. Actually, a lot of laughs. And then more. There are certain people who give rise to the ornery side of me. They would be embarrassed to be mentioned, so I won’t. Okay I will: Jack, Carl, Mark.
Some new memories. There will be a treasure trove of these to carry home with me. Hopefully, I will have as many photos as memories, so that I can revisit them whenever I feel like flipping through a few pages or clicking through them on my Facebook albums. I expect their servers are going to go into hyperdrive the first few days we all return home.
Revisiting some old memories. Funny, but for all the angst of those teenage years, I can now only remember the good times, the funny events, and the mischief. Like the time Carl parked his car outside my house and it rolled down over the hill. Or watching my dad lecturing Randy after he yard-farmed our lawn. Parties on Jack’s farm. Feeding trash cans of Purple Passion to unsuspecting cheerleaders at the kegger at Bruce’s house. Maybe I shouldn’t recount some of these.
A feeling of continuity. That feeling, like someone once told me of their reunion, of someone having hit the pause button for thirty years , then hit it again now. Something about that weekend, I think, is going to reduce the size and significance of all the time and distance we have all put between each other since then.
But not everything I anticipate is a good thing. Some of it is actually, not so good.
I am not expecting to do any dancing. I can’t. I just…well, I just can’t. I am like an elephant with snowshoes on when it comes to dancing, so I will be content to watch those who can. Have fun. I’ll be over here, tapping my toes, maybe drumming my fingers, maybe even singing a little under my breath, where people nearby will not have to bear witness that I also cannot sing.
I also have stuck in my mind this nightmarish scene I remember from a John Cusack movie, Grosse Pointe Plank. As scenes go—where there is some reunion involved in the plot—it seems to be fairly common in cinema. It’s near the end of the evening, and the retro music is playing in the background as the last of the diehards are still hanging in there, obviously having had a few too many adult beverages. I’m haunted by that shot they show of those last few people, hanging on to live out unrealized or long-lingering romantic flames, believing they can make it happen in those glorious final minutes of music. They can barely stand as they fight off the drunkenness and attempt something resembling a slow dance, but they end up looking something like two zombies arisen from the dead, swaying and leaning into each other.
My vow is that I will not be one of those zombies. But, I am betting someone will. And…so what?! More power to them. Everyone should get to enjoy the reunion in whatever way they want. It’s supposed to be fun, and everyone has their distinctly different version of fun.
Something else: the very thing that has helped produce this year’s reunion is also going to be the same thing that helps shape it. Honestly, Facebook has changed things for all of us over the last year or so, and I don’t mean all of their incessant technical adjustments. No, there is more.
We have all had to time to reacquaint, get to know each other a little better. Some of us have changed a little physically, emotionally, spiritually, and politically, and we have come to learn those things about each other in all of our interactions during that time. We have come to form and reform opinions about each other, where initially there may have been no opinions, only excitement over reconnecting. Sometimes we may have reconnected and confirmed our thoughts of someone based on our shared personal history. In other cases, we may be asking ourselves how the person we used to know became this new person we see now.
But, my biggest hope: none of that matters. And, I don’t think it will, because what it is we are all gathering to celebrate is what we have shared in common. Otherwise, we wouldn’t even make the effort. Oh, I am sure there will be the person or two that might avoid each other, for whatever reasons they bring with them. There will be circles of friends who will tend to gather, in much the same way we all did in school, and some of those circles will expand and include people that before were never included. Those social lines seem to have blurred and become rather insignificant these days.
I’m betting the worst thing that happens to any of us that night will be that awkward moment when we find ourselves chatting with someone while we rack our brains to figure out who it is. (This person knows me, is really glad to see me. I feel like a total heel because I—for the life of me—cannot remember them. Okay, look away, look away, look away for just a second so I can steal a less-than-obvious glance at your name tag, and…yes!...) “SO _____, how are you doing these days? Great! Hey, I have to get this drink over to my friend. Good to see you!”
Then you’ll slink away and wonder why the heck you still can’t remember that person. But that awkward, guilty feeling is nothing that a little reminiscing won’t kill in just a few minutes.
© 2010 Cody Kilgore. All Rights Reserved worldwide under the Berne Convention. May not be copied or distributed without prior written permission.
No comments:
Post a Comment