Reasons of Maturity

It’s been a long time since I was in high school. I’d like to say I have pleasant memories of the place, but the truth is I thought it was my personal hell. I know, I know; everyone says that, but I have my reasons. I was uprooted the summer of my senior year, leaving behind the city of 40,000 I had always known and transplanting me into a nowhere town with just shy of 4,000. Everyone in the senior class, all 62 of them, had known each other for their entire educational career and here I was, an outsider, dropped in as though I were an alien coming to harvest their organs. I still remember the looks I got for the first month I was there.

Needless to say, that year was unlike any other I had experienced before. I was an outcast, looked upon as though I were a leper. Granted, looking back I know I didn’t make things easier. I was bitter at having been uprooted, bitter at my parent’s divorce leading my mother to take the job that brought us here, bitter that my sister was older and was off at college before the move came. I avoided social interaction that wasn’t in the form of football, which only encouraged more bullying and rumors to circulate around why I had been uprooted my senior year. I was miserable. I still remember the pangs of depression that had held my heart that entire year, but there was nothing to be done for it. Sure, I probably could have insisted on being allowed to stay behind, move in with my absent father to finish my senior year with the people I had always known, but I didn’t try to keep what little peace the house had. 

All of that was a long time ago. In the years following I moved, left the town for the Air Force, and ended up in a city similar to the one I was raised in. I met my best friend and married her and began a family of my own. I gave little thought to my high school days over those years. Sure, I got the reminders of the reunions, but it was so far and I didn’t feel like a true part of the class. There were plenty of reasons to avoid it all; work, the children, my wife. It wasn’t as though I were desperate to attend. My wife seemed to understand, but we always went to hers. Always. She had friends, a life, had loved her high school experience and found it interesting to see what everyone was up to now. She remained in touch with the majority of her class and was a cherished member of the planning committee. How she found the time to volunteer baffled him, what with the children and her own work, but it brought her joy and so, I shrugged it off.

But now things are different. I’ve retired, my wife has retired. The children are gone, starting lives of their own and there is nothing but time. When the notification came of my 50th class reunion, well, I couldn’t help but think about the possibility of attending. I knew some of our class would have passed. That was true of just about any class facing their fiftieth celebration, but I’ll be honest and admit that I haven’t closely followed them. “Dear?” I called, wondering just where in the house my wife had gotten to, the bundle of mail tucked neatly in my left hand.

“I’m in the pantry organizing for our store run. What is it, Harold?”

I entered the room, finding my wife standing on a step ladder acting as though it was just another day. Of course, the notice hadn’t come for her. In her mind it was just another Thursday. They would go to the store just after lunch, spend the afternoon putting their finds away before fixing a simple meal and retiring to watch the evening news or read. They hadn’t meant to become a routine couple, but it seemed there was no way to avoid such a thing. Today, though, I was going to upset the balance with just a few words. “I’m thinking of going to my fiftieth.”

That got my wife to stop her movements, stop fluttering about with the pantry. “I thought you hated the idea of reunions.”

A laugh escaped my lips at her words. She wasn’t wrong. I had been adamant about not going, but a person could only hold a grudge for so long. With little else to do I thought it would be interesting to see how much everyone had changed and what everyone was up to now. I may have only been there for a year, but that year was still firmly planted in my brain. “I know, but with each passing year I can’t stop wondering how much everyone has changed. I hated that place, but it seems foolish now. I’m nearly seventy. Maybe it’s time to let things go.”

Miriam nodded, stepping down from the step stool to embrace me. I never had felt worthy of her love, but then I had never felt worthy of anyone’s love. “If you really want to do this, I’m on board. I can make the reservations and arrange a flight. Maybe we could even stay a bit longer and you can show me where you’re from? I’ve never gotten to see the place that created you,” she said with a knowing look. She was pushing me, but I didn’t have the advantage at the moment. She was right. I avoided going home. There was nothing left there for me.

“We can probably arrange that.” I shrugged. If we were really going to head back, go to the reunion, it would be the best chance she would get to see the world I had come from. Not that it was anything spectacular. The rural town was nothing compared to the city, but then we would be close by there as well. It wouldn’t take much to show her both, show my wife everything I remembered from my past, to see how much it had changed. “It would be interesting to see how everything else changed as well.”

A nod. I knew it was settled at that point. There would be no more discussion. We were going to go. I was reversing my entire position on reunions, but I was okay with that. There was a peace that came with it, a knowing. I was finally accepting the past for the past and letting it go. That was the sign of maturity and it seemed it had finally come for me. Now, I had to wait and see if it was the right decision.