Reunion

REUNION

I have been looking in the mirror for over a month now and nothing changed. Somewhere inside my body lurked the hundred eighteen-pound high school senior of fifteen years ago; volleyball, cheerleading, drama, softball, and best smile. I needed to find that girl before my class reunion this Saturday. But this mirror wasn’t very kind and concealed everything except the truth.

“Damn, Taylor!” Where are you?” I asked myself every day.

Salads, water, yogurt, veggies, and fruit, not to mention workouts at the health club and riding my four-hundred-dollar mountain bike five miles a day were all part of my schedule now, my life so to speak. 

I hopped on the scale to find out I had dropped a grand total of two and a quarter pounds. It depressed me so much I went on a chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream binge, setting back the weight loss in a heartbeat. I was back up to a hundred forty-four pounds, packed on my five-foot, eight-inch frame. I was told I looked fine, but what do parents and daughters (ages ten and eight) know?

My body was still proportionate, just two sizes larger from my senior year at Theodore Roosevelt High School. I thought I was doing great after fifteen years; two children, a full-time job I loved, good friends, and a husband I could proudly call my ex. My friends would all describe me as zaftig, statuesque, or very healthy. I interpreted all that to mean fat, but I did have very good taste in clothes that tactfully hid those dreaded extra pounds.

The doorbell brought my trip from self-pity, victim-ville short. On my porch, stood my friend and classmate of ’99, Claire Matthews. We have remained friends since graduation. She held my hand through the births of my children and my divorce from a husband who didn’t hold my hand through those births. I, in return, was matron of honor at all three of her weddings. Yet, I dreaded her visits.

Just as the Robin was the harbinger of spring, Claire was the harbinger of my self-doubt and low self-esteem. She didn’t mean to do it, she was just being Claire, but whenever she visited I would just hope that each stopover wouldn’t be that grain of sand that tipped me over to the Prozac side of life. I crossed my fingers and opened the door.

“Claire, what a pleasant surprise.” Not quite a lie, it was a surprise.

We brushed cheeks as she swept passed me carrying a sheath of papers. “I don’t know why. I left a message telling you what time I’d be by. Honestly, Taylor, why have voice male if you never utilize it? Or do you? Are you screening me? Oh, well, doesn’t matter, I’m here.”

She settled on the couch, spreading her papers on the coffee table. “Just tons of positive responses, just tons. We should have close to ninety percent of the ’99 Rough Riders present.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said with such a lack of enthusiasm, it bordered on sarcasm. She caught it.

“Really, Taylor, you look wonderful. I don’t know why you’re in such a tizzy. I wish I could carry extra weight as well as you do.” One more grain of sand closer to that Prozac lifestyle.

“Jessica Miller is coming. Can you believe it? After the spectacle, she put on at the graduation dance.”

“Claire, it was fifteen years ago. Let it go.”

“I can still see that dance, that dress, and no panties. Gross.”

“Jesus, Claire – “

“Oh, my God!”

“What?”

“Ryan Scott is coming!”

“Get outta town!”

“Honest to God. Look!”

I scooted around and sat next to her on the couch. It was true. He was coming. The envelope was postmarked in Los Angeles, California.

“Did you see his last commercial?”

“Only he could make you want to run out and buy denture cream.”

“Oh, yes. You don’t think he – “

“Of course, not, Claire. He’s an actor. It was a part, right?”

“Right.”

“I can’t wait to tell Phyllis. She’ll swoon and go into a coma.” I had to laugh. In high school whenever Phyllis saw Ryan in the hall, I thought she would rip off all her clothes and beg him to take her right then and there. Instead, she always went into a panic attack.

As I enjoyed this reverie, Claire started laughing. I turned and looked at her. She tried, but couldn’t stop.

“What?”

“Ty Waller is coming.”

The name shot through me like a serrated knife. Don’t get me wrong, Ty was a very nice, sweet boy. He had this unbelievable crush on me. But he was what we called a nerd, geek now I guess.

“I wonder if the sparks will continue to fly, once he sees you. Boy, his pocket protector will melt.”

“Shut up.”

“No, really, I can still see that chubby little stalker, sweating through those cheap, plaid shirts, dogging you throughout the school, that is, between his chess and computer club meetings. These days it would be stalking.”

“Stop it.”

“Well, at least, you won’t lack for attention. Gosh, Taylor, I have to run. I have a million things to do.”

I walked her to the door. She brushed my cheek again.

“Smooches,” she smacked and was gone.

I closed the door, turned, and stared at my treadmill for almost a whole minute, picturing a “For Sale” sign on it. I walked back to the kitchen and grabbed a pint of cookie dough ice cream and walked back to the couch. Ty Waller; oh my, God.

When the night came, I sat at the bar nursing a chilled Chardonnay. The fusion of eighties and nineties music filtered in from the other room. I had to leave and find refuge at the bar. It seemed that all the DJ knew was the Electric Slide and the Macarena. So here I was hiding in the midst of the booze, only because there was no Ben and Jerry’s in stock.

For the life of me, I didn’t know why I wanted to attend this disaster. My high school class was extremely cliquish. The same groups hung out day after day. And guess what? Claire remembered them all. She had all the cliques sitting together at each table.

As the DJ slipped into a heavy metal tribute, I downed the Chardonnay in one gulp and then eyed the amber-colored haven of the scotches on the bottom shelf behind the bar.

As the bartender placed the Johnny Walker Red on the rocks in front of me, Claire burst into the bar.

“There you are,” she said scurrying next to me. “He’s here!”

“Who’s here?”

“Ryan Scott, silly. C’mon, before all those desperate hussies gobble him up. Let’s get out there before Phyllis gets naked during another panic attack.”

I was barely able to hang onto my drink as she pulled me “towards the dining area. She stopped short, checked her face in her compact, touched up the lips and cheeks, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and plunged through the door full speed ahead.

The celebration was just as I left it. No one was wearing a lampshade yet, but the night was still young and full of promise.

“Over there.”

I looked and saw an exquisite looking man in what seemed to be the perfect tuxedo; James Bond lounging inside CASINO ROYALE looking for a game of baccarat. My God, he was better looking than in ’99, if you could believe that.

“C’mon,” Claire commanded.

A small crowd of women had him outflanked. This didn’t deter Claire. She cut right through that sea of outdated prom dresses. At least she didn’t scream, “Fire!”.

“Oh, Ryan,” she said. “I’m so glad you could make it. What have you been up to all these years?”

He simply smiled taking another sip from his glass, and then looked at me. His silence didn’t phase her in the least. Pulling me forward, she continued, “Do you remember Taylor?” This was too embarrassing.

“Of course, I remember Taylor. In high school, I had quite a crush on her. She was the only girl that didn’t treat me like a bug.”

“What? Ryan – “

“I’m not Ryan Scott.”

“What?”

“Ryan is over by the DJ going over the playoff game against Schurz that cost us the Prep Bowl in ’98.”

All eyes shifted at once to a blond-haired man in a suit, a size or two too small, still sporting a mullet.

“Then who’re…”

When he smiled, I knew. “Ty Waller,” he said. I could only smile. The DJ started playing MY GIRL.

“Taylor, care to dance?”

Everyone was staring at us as we stepped onto the floor. He pulled me into his arms as The Temptations slipped into the second chorus. As he held me and glided me across the floor, I couldn’t help but think of the previous Ty. This felt so good, so comfortable, so wonderful, and so – so natural.

After the dance, we sat at a nearby table.

“Thanks for the dance, Tyler.”

“No. Thank you. I waited a long time for it.” As we talked, Claire approached.

“Ty, could I have the next dance?”

“He looked at me, winked, and said, “Sorry, Claire, maybe at the next reunion. Tonight, my card if filled.” Gazing into my eyes and said, “Hopefully it will be filled for a long time. Care to dance again, Taylor?”

“I’d be delighted.”

We floated back onto the dance floor and I knew both our dance cards would stay full for a very long time to come.

THE END