Hey this story is based around the idea of a 10 year reunion some feedback would be greatly appreciated!!!
thankyou.
Belonging.
It was 6:47pm on a Saturday night and I was already seventeen minutes late. It was a hot night and creeks of sweat were running down my back. My red dress was tighter that the clothes I usually wear and I was terribly offended by the thought of back sweat. It was September the 21st the night the most number of people could attend.
I indicated left and parked in a space that had always been reserved for teachers, even now, ten years on I felt a bit naughty. I needed to have three goes at parking something I haven’t needed to do since year 12, I put it down to nervousness and thanked god no one saw.
I stepped out onto the black bitumen and shuffled toward the gym, carefully avoiding pre-chewed gum purposely spat out in the teacher’s car park. I forced myself to walk as fast as possible in my new black shoes already competing against one another to see which one could give me the most blisters. I knew if I slowed down or wasted anymore time I could convince myself I was too late and drive back to the airport in my red hire car.
I wasn’t sure why I was there. Coming from a town with one school, I had known the people I graduated with since we were all playing hopscotch in kindergarten. Why on earth would I want to go back? Wasn’t eighteen years in the same town enough, already? I had planned to boycott the reunion for years. But then the invitations went out. I changed my mind. It could be fun to go to the reunion.
I could see if any of the popular girls got fat. Or who went to jail. Or who got married. Was anyone was successful? I could rule myself out.
Maybe it was guilt that drew me to this corner of the world, I hadn’t talked to anyone since I screamed out of town ten years ago, rushing to go somewhere, to be someone.
Didn’t tell anyone I was leaving either. That’s probably my biggest regret maybe my only. I tried half heatedly to track a few people down but without luck.
I was nearly at the gym and my mind was filled with images I was sure I was going to encounter. Everything would be exactly the same, the worn out floor, high ceiling, and rows of stairs on either side where we used to sit for assembly. There would be popular 90’s music playing that the majority of people didn’t even like when it was popular. The gym would reek of body odour and old joggers the kind of stench you could taste on the tip of your tongue. And it would be hot. Hotter than it was now. Back sweat would multiply.
Everyone would be in the same cliques as they used to be, they may have even gone back to gender segregation, year seven style. The popular girls would be discussing their latest manicures and shopping sprees. The football team would be asking one another if they caught the game the other night. The student representative council would probably all be local members or councillors by now and comparing all their local area policies. The handful of friends I had probably wouldn’t want to talk to me.
We would probably take lots of photos with our old groups similar to those taken on graduation day. Clique, clique, clique goes the camera.
I stepped up to the back door instead of walking around to the front. At the doors I hesitated, I could still leave. Take off my shoes and run away but I’d already done that so instead I pushed open the door. The last physical barrier preventing me from going and talking to the forty-one people whom I spent eighteen years with ten years ago.
I walk inside and the door bangs loudly behind me and unfortunately there was no bad 90s music to mask the sound. There was a gym full of people staring at me. How odd they were all grown ups. What was I expecting?
Well to be honest I was half expecting a roomful of gangly teenagers with mismatched clothing, teeth imprisoned by braces and pimple pocked skin. In high school no one really belonged because no one knew who they were let alone who they wanted to be in ten years.
But here there was confidence, individuality, excitement and straight teeth. Here the best second rower our school had ever seen was dancing with the library monitor. And the ‘it’ girl was holding hands and talking to someone who was obviously her husband, he was in a wheelchair. All of a sudden I was being called over to all sorts of people, flung around the make shift dance floor by a variety of men who I was surprised to learn remembered my name and as I spotted certain people I started to recall funny memories.
Sally B. was the ‘friendliest’ in school and by the end of our year 12 retreat she had ‘lost’ every bra she brought. Then I spotted Grace W. who was always the tallest, and we used to make jokes about how I would always look up to her. My very first sleepover, was at Emma G.’s house. I still have a scar on my knee from that sleepover. There was a park across the street from her house, and I was on the swing holding on for dear life as Emma pushed it as high as she could. I fell off and tried not to cry. Emma’s mum dumped some Dettol on it and slapped on a Band-Aid. Aidan A the first boy I had ever ‘loved’ was there winking and making none to subtle jokes about formal night.
There was a lot less rivalry and salary comparing than I expected and a lot more ‘remember that lunch time when…’ and ‘I’ll never forgot the look on our bio teachers face that time we…”
I hated high school. I truly did, but the reunion was a chance to catch up now we had an identity, I talked to nearly everyone there, and, much to my relief the back sweat was kept to a minimum.
thankyou.
Belonging.
It was 6:47pm on a Saturday night and I was already seventeen minutes late. It was a hot night and creeks of sweat were running down my back. My red dress was tighter that the clothes I usually wear and I was terribly offended by the thought of back sweat. It was September the 21st the night the most number of people could attend.
I indicated left and parked in a space that had always been reserved for teachers, even now, ten years on I felt a bit naughty. I needed to have three goes at parking something I haven’t needed to do since year 12, I put it down to nervousness and thanked god no one saw.
I stepped out onto the black bitumen and shuffled toward the gym, carefully avoiding pre-chewed gum purposely spat out in the teacher’s car park. I forced myself to walk as fast as possible in my new black shoes already competing against one another to see which one could give me the most blisters. I knew if I slowed down or wasted anymore time I could convince myself I was too late and drive back to the airport in my red hire car.
I wasn’t sure why I was there. Coming from a town with one school, I had known the people I graduated with since we were all playing hopscotch in kindergarten. Why on earth would I want to go back? Wasn’t eighteen years in the same town enough, already? I had planned to boycott the reunion for years. But then the invitations went out. I changed my mind. It could be fun to go to the reunion.
I could see if any of the popular girls got fat. Or who went to jail. Or who got married. Was anyone was successful? I could rule myself out.
Maybe it was guilt that drew me to this corner of the world, I hadn’t talked to anyone since I screamed out of town ten years ago, rushing to go somewhere, to be someone.
Didn’t tell anyone I was leaving either. That’s probably my biggest regret maybe my only. I tried half heatedly to track a few people down but without luck.
I was nearly at the gym and my mind was filled with images I was sure I was going to encounter. Everything would be exactly the same, the worn out floor, high ceiling, and rows of stairs on either side where we used to sit for assembly. There would be popular 90’s music playing that the majority of people didn’t even like when it was popular. The gym would reek of body odour and old joggers the kind of stench you could taste on the tip of your tongue. And it would be hot. Hotter than it was now. Back sweat would multiply.
Everyone would be in the same cliques as they used to be, they may have even gone back to gender segregation, year seven style. The popular girls would be discussing their latest manicures and shopping sprees. The football team would be asking one another if they caught the game the other night. The student representative council would probably all be local members or councillors by now and comparing all their local area policies. The handful of friends I had probably wouldn’t want to talk to me.
We would probably take lots of photos with our old groups similar to those taken on graduation day. Clique, clique, clique goes the camera.
I stepped up to the back door instead of walking around to the front. At the doors I hesitated, I could still leave. Take off my shoes and run away but I’d already done that so instead I pushed open the door. The last physical barrier preventing me from going and talking to the forty-one people whom I spent eighteen years with ten years ago.
I walk inside and the door bangs loudly behind me and unfortunately there was no bad 90s music to mask the sound. There was a gym full of people staring at me. How odd they were all grown ups. What was I expecting?
Well to be honest I was half expecting a roomful of gangly teenagers with mismatched clothing, teeth imprisoned by braces and pimple pocked skin. In high school no one really belonged because no one knew who they were let alone who they wanted to be in ten years.
But here there was confidence, individuality, excitement and straight teeth. Here the best second rower our school had ever seen was dancing with the library monitor. And the ‘it’ girl was holding hands and talking to someone who was obviously her husband, he was in a wheelchair. All of a sudden I was being called over to all sorts of people, flung around the make shift dance floor by a variety of men who I was surprised to learn remembered my name and as I spotted certain people I started to recall funny memories.
Sally B. was the ‘friendliest’ in school and by the end of our year 12 retreat she had ‘lost’ every bra she brought. Then I spotted Grace W. who was always the tallest, and we used to make jokes about how I would always look up to her. My very first sleepover, was at Emma G.’s house. I still have a scar on my knee from that sleepover. There was a park across the street from her house, and I was on the swing holding on for dear life as Emma pushed it as high as she could. I fell off and tried not to cry. Emma’s mum dumped some Dettol on it and slapped on a Band-Aid. Aidan A the first boy I had ever ‘loved’ was there winking and making none to subtle jokes about formal night.
There was a lot less rivalry and salary comparing than I expected and a lot more ‘remember that lunch time when…’ and ‘I’ll never forgot the look on our bio teachers face that time we…”
I hated high school. I truly did, but the reunion was a chance to catch up now we had an identity, I talked to nearly everyone there, and, much to my relief the back sweat was kept to a minimum.
I liked it!
