Getting old sucks. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, every single other person in my graduating class of 1987 is getting old right along with me. I suppose that’s part of why I agreed to go to my Class Reunion. I mean, I really wasn’t ALL that interested. Oh sure, there were a couple of people coming back that I wanted to see who I literally hadn’t seen since Junior High (our town was so small that we invite not only the people who actually graduate together, but also the people who were ever our classmates at all and also the ones who dropped out or flunked out...we’re nothing if not all inclusive). And usually, in a town this size, people from other classes will show up as well, and it’s always fun to catch up with them, too.
But, the true excitement of the weekend for me was the reunion with my four girlfriends. You see, I’ve reconnected with these friends from the past in the last 18 months, and man, have we all been through a lot together. And I don’t mean “OMG, my daughter likes a boy who I don’t approve of” kind of stuff. No, we’ve nursed one of us in the midst of a husband’s affair and subsequent loss of a 24 year marriage, we’ve done time by a husband’s grave site, we’ve shared ugly, horrific secrets, and exposed embarrassing things that we’d be ashamed to tell anyone else, and most of all, we’ve loved each other when we weren’t sure anybody else in the world would. My girlfriends are the very picture of unconditional love.
And it’s just so hard to get the five of us together. We live miles and miles apart, we have fifteen children combined, we have ten different jobs and own over a dozen properties and have countless other responsibilities and family members and friends. But when we are together, everything suddenly seems right and we can all just breathe for a moment. That’s what I was truly looking forward to. Breathing for a moment.
And one of the wonderful things about the 25 year reunion is that really, who gives a rat’s ass anymore? In preparation for the reunion, my 16-year-old gave me a hair cut and I didn’t even have a chance to repaint my toes and I certainly hadn’t lost the 10 pounds I’ve been meaning to. Aren’t we over all of it? Failed marriages, grandchildren born, some of my classmates have even lost a child or a spouse. Who fucking cares about petty little details, right?
Well, evidently some people still do. And I never saw it coming. There was literally an ENTIRE WEEKEND of events around the reunion - dance, dinner, morning devotions (really?), pool party, family BBQ, decorate a parade float (parade float?!), and participation in the parade. Honestly, if that’s your gig, good for you. Have a great time. If I lived in the town and was invested at a different level, maybe I’d participate. I don’t mind if you do. But you know, the five of us girlfriends didn’t go to the ‘Friday night 80s dance, because, well... we didn’t feel like it. We needed a moment to catch up. To hug and cry and laugh without having to worry about anything else. Who cares if we’re there???? We’re coming Saturday, all right? Lay the fuck off!! But, the organizer of the reunion is clearly harboring some high school level anger and resentment toward us. Big time.
We get to the reunion and everybody is a little on edge. The anxiety is running high. We’ve resisted the urge to race back to my cabin, get into our pajamas and make a bonfire and eat artichoke dip for dinner and forget the whole thing. Why are we anxious? Who knows. I guess on some level we must all bring all our old baggage and uncertainty and high school angst with us to these reunions. Plus, when you’ve shown up over the years of previous reunions with various husbands and/or boyfriends (and for some of us, it’s been a different person each time), let’s face it, it’s a little embarrassing. The reunion is a celebration of our failures in a way. But it’s also a celebration of our survival. So, a few stiff drinks later, we were ready to head into the ridiculously well lit room and face our former classmates.
The first thing I did was to turn down the lights. I mean, the dial was right there on the wall, and if there is one thing we need at the 25-year reunion, it’s a little less light. And for the love of God, would everybody please set their cameras to black and white and promise to use photo editing software, so we can blur those wrinkles and lines and dark circles under our eyes. It’s been a long 25 years, people.
I started to catch up with a few people. I was surprised at how outgoing and friendly a couple people I remembered to be very shy were. I thought, hey, this is going to be ok. Hey, this might be fun.
Then, it was time for dinner. I had my scoop of mashed potatoes and a couple of baby carrots (Oh, you thought there would be a vegetarian option at the Grantsburg High School class reunion? Bahahahahahaha!!!!) and made a secret plan to head over into the bar next door and order some cheese curds later. But, I never got the chance.
Just as I was catching up with a recently divorced friend who I expected to be snotty but turned out to be incredibly humble and sweet and down to earth, I was called to the front of the room with my girlfriends by the organizer of the reunion. It was all the mystery what was happening. We were lined up and called out individually as traitors for not attending the event the night before. We were given these tags that said “traitor” and publicly ridiculed. Was this supposed to be funny? Cause it wasn’t. At all.
And you can try to justify it by saying the person doing it was trying to be humorous in a misplaced kind of way... you can say (and you’d be right) that she is crazy... you can say that it’s better to just feel sorry for her that she’s so wrapped up in whether or not we attend the reunion events that she has to publicly call us out when we don’t.
But here’s the thing. After the “traitor” incident, I was again pulled up to the front just a few minutes later to play a “game” and she went out of her way to further ridicule me to my former classmates and their spouses during the entire thing. I smiled and acted like a good sport while she hugged me and whispered some pretty nasty things in my ear and the first chance I got, immediately fled the scene.
I won’t attend another reunion. Who needs it? We are all so broken, aren’t we? I’ve spent so much of my adult life trying to reconcile various relationships, to deal with shame and regret and pain from my years growing up. I have a terrible memory (it drives my girlfriends nuts when I can’t share their memories, but NO, I do not remember that time we had that sleepover at Kim’s house and I do not remember that time when Mr. Richards’ toupee fell off - I just DON’T, ok?!) and so I can’t even go back and conjure up memories of what I may have done to make this person hate me so very much that 25 years later, in our mid-40s, she has to publicly humiliate me in front of other people.
But never mind all that. I guess what I really want to know is when my girlfriends and I are going back to the cabin together? Because that, indeed, was the reunion that my heart and soul needed the most...
