My high school reunion was last weekend. Oh, don't expect to hear any tales of who danced on a table with a lampshade on her head. And stop thinking it was probably me. I didn't attend the reunion. I haven't been to one yet. Hick goes to his every time. But not me.
There's no particular reason I don't attend. No grudges. No embarrassing secrets. I'm successful by local standards. Which is kind of like that bookkeeper at the junk store telling me two weeks after hiring me that she did so because I "looked clean". I mean, I have a job. I have a husband and kids. I'm no Quasimodo or serial killer or meth manufacturer. I get by. Nobody is going to think I wasted my valedictorian life by becoming a teacher. It's a noble profession, right?
No, I simply don't enjoy festivities involving many people. The day before the reunion, I ran into a former classmate in The Dollar Tree. Funny. Because I usually run into him in Walmart. He said he was going to the reunion for the first time ever. I wished him well. Today in Walmart, another classmate jumped across the checkouts to declare that I had too many items for the 20 Items or Less counter. Mayhap I did, and mayhap I didn't, as my son Genius likes to say, after reading The Stand. But the checker personally invited me over there. So I told him off, and asked if he went to the reunion. Nope. He was out of town, he said. And added furthermore that he sees everybody he needs to see in Walmart. Ain't that the truth? As I exited the store, there he was chatting up another classmate at the greeting door, although she is usually a checker. He pointed to me. "She didn't go to the reunion, either. Why should we? We have our own right here."
I think a reunion would depress me. I would wonder why all my former classmates looked so old. Because I still feel like I'm eighteen.