Memories

George sat at the round table, chuckling to himself as he watched his old schoolmates shuffle on the dance floor. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and tapped his foot along to the beat of “Here Comes the Sun” playing from the speakers on the stage.

“Remember me, old pal?” asked a quiet voice behind him.

George craned his neck around to see a short woman with gray hair and a face full of wrinkles. She wore a turquoise and white blouse that reminded him of tropical beaches, and she carried a small pink purse on her shoulder.

“My goodness,” he said, laughing. “Mary Lou Campbell.” He wheeled his chair around so he could fully face her.

She leaned down and wrapped her arms around his frail body. He pressed his cheek against hers. She smelled like ripe peaches.

“I forget a lot of things these days, but you’ll never be one of them, Mary.”

“How long’s it been?” she asked as she settled into the seat beside him, dropping her purse on the table.

George was startled to see the dullness in her eyes; he only remembered them as a brilliant blue. They used to be the exact color of the lake in the mountains she always drove him to.

“Since we last talked? A decade, at least.”

Mary Lou shook her head. “Just rude. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” George tried his hardest not to stare as Mary Lou gazed around the gym.

“Can you believe this? Fifty years since prom?” she said, shaking her head.

“And sixty years since we met.”

“Oh, yes.” Mary Lou giggled and Frank felt his heart stutter. Something told him it wasn’t his pacemaker. “When you broke your chair?”

“I see the years haven’t dulled your memory,” huffed Frank.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I happened to like patching you up.”

George smiled as his mind traveled back to the day he sped down the hill in his childhood wheelchair. Mary Lou wrapped bandages around his scraped arms and wiped the blood off his shirt, and her mother even gave him a spoon of ice cream once his tears ceased.

“How’s Frank? And the kids?” he asked. 

Mary Lou coughed into her hand. “Frank’s...the same. Wanted to watch the game instead of coming here.” She cleared her throat. “The kids are fine. More than fine—Elizabeth’s pregnant!”

“Congratulations!” said George, and he meant it. “What number will that be?”

“Seven.” Mary Lou reached into her purse and pulled out a bundle of polaroids. She showed George six pictures of children ranging from infant to teenager.

“Number seven. Wow.” George scratched his head as he stared at Mary Lou’s grandchildren. One of them had her sharp cheekbones. Another stared at him with the bluest of eyes.

“And you?” she asked, setting the pictures onto the table.

“Still...nothing,” said George. He suddenly couldn’t meet Mary Lou’s gaze. “You know how it is,” he mumbled, gesturing to his chair.

She remained silent for a moment before clearing her throat. “They played this at prom, didn’t they?”

George laughed as they listened to The Rolling Stones. “Seriously, how do you remember stuff like that?”

She leaned forward and playfully slapped his hand. “How could you not? This was the only song we danced together to!”

“You mean when I wheeled over your toes?”

“My shoes did more damage to my feet than your wheelchair, I can tell you that.” She laughed, and it was that tinkling sounds that made George blurt out without thinking.

“I was going to ask you to prom.” His cheeks warmed and he shifted in his chair.

Mary Lou stared at him. “What?”

“I just—I thought you should know.”

“Why didn’t you?” she demanded.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you ask me to prom?”

George chuckled. “Well, your parents told me you were sweet on Frank just about every time I came around.”

Mary Lou blinked. “Are you serious?”

“They said you were excited to go with Frank...”

“And you believed them?”

George stared at her. “What? Why wouldn’t I?” George thought about the way Mary Lou’s mother always helped him get into his chair from the car, and how her father always asked him about his classes.

“You were always too good to be true, George,” she whispered, and George was startled to see her eyes fill with tears. “They made me go with Frank. They wouldn’t let me go to prom with a—a—”

It hit George like a truck then, and he said, “They wouldn’t let you go to prom with...a cripple?”

Mary Lou closed her eyes and nodded.

George let out his breath in a big huff. He didn’t realize he was holding it in. “Well. I—I don’t know what to say to that, Mary Lou. I guess I thought your parents were alright.”

“They said they wanted the best for me.” She opened her eyes again and stared at George with such sadness, he felt his heart drop to the floor. “People can be beautiful on the outside and cruel on the inside, George.”

George opened his mouth and snapped it quickly shut again.

“And then Frank and I ended up going to the same college…”

“I wrote to you. Every week.” His voice was accusatory now.

“I was a stupid girl, George,” said Mary Lou. “A stupid, cowardly girl. I should never have listened to them. They weren't the only cruel ones.” She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and blew her nose.

George looked at her—at the silver strands of hair framing her face, at the powdered blush on her cheeks. “It’s not too late, Mary Lou. It’s not too late for us.” He reached forward and clutched her wrinkled hands in his.

She tilted her head toward the table, at the polaroids of her smiling grandchildren, and slowly pulled her hands out of George’s. “But it is,” she whispered. 

Mary Lou stood up from her chair and leaned toward her oldest friend. She pressed her lips to his forehead, picked up her purse, and walked away.

George wiped the tears from his eyes as he stared at the six pictures left on the table.