This time next week I’ll be fretting about whether or not I have the right clothes to wear to my high school reunion, to which I will be flying next Thursday. (Reader, I won’t.) I have attended three other reunions: 10th, 30th and 40th. I’m not sure what happened to the 20th but since I was in the middle of a divorce and figuring out single-parenthood, I probably couldn’t afford it. Too bad…after the Divorce Diet, I probably looked the best I ever did, before or since.
Not that anyone noticed what I looked like in high school anyway. My high school experience was that of the wallflower, the wannabe, the “cute, but . . .” girl. “Cute, but . . .” meaning I was too fat or too shy or too unpopular for the boys to take notice of me. I bought the cute tops and wore the roomy bell bottoms, but in the TV sitcom of high school experiences, mine was more Freaks and Geeks than Saved by the Bell.
But it wasn’t a completely painful experience. I had an ally—my friend Diane. She had the guts I never had and she is the reason we ended up at (crashing) parties we hadn’t been invited to. It was a gift to me, to be able to go out with Diane, because, unlike me, she went out on dates. A lot of dates. I don’t think I had one date in high school except for the senior prom and I went with my neighbor to that. I can’t believe she had time to take me along on her escapades, but she did.
And such escapades! Diane had her own car--a sky-blue VW and we took that thing everywhere. Cruising Cherokee Park, into the middle of bumpy corn fields with our illegal bottles of Boone’s Farm and sometimes just back and forth to each other’s homes—three streets away from each other. Being with Diane made me feel like I was part of—if not THE in-crowd--an in-crowd. Even if it was just the two of us.
Each time I returned to Louisville for the reunions, I stayed with Diane. And even though we were grown-ups with kids and we’d be going together I still felt that mild anxiety of “what was I doing here?” Those darn events triggered the same feeling of wishing I belonged, wanting to do what the other kids were doing, being one of the cool kids. I’d like to say I’ve grown out of that feeling, that I am more confident in who I am—and, in many ways, I have. But still, when the emails began arriving this summer and I tried to decide which of the half dozen or so events I should sign up for, those same feelings started churning inside. Who would be there? Who would I see? More importantly—who would see me?? And why was I so darn nervous?
The first person I talked to about it was Diane, of course. Not only have we stayed in touch, but she was one of my most steadfast supporters during the last 10 years. Every so often a fun and funky surprise would show up in the mail for me: a cute set of nautical wine glasses. An enormous flip-flop hors d’oeuvre tray, a spinning garden ornament, snacks and meals and most touchingly, a memorial stone engraved for Annie’s tree in Maine. But I wasn’t sure she’d be going.
Because, despite being consistently there for me, she’s been dealing with her own challenges, basically fighting for her life. Over the last dozen or so years, lung disease has been slowly taking her breath away and her last option was a transplant, which she had this past February. Double. Both lungs…replaced. How could she possibly be thinking of attending a high school reunion?
Well, I am happy to report that after six months of recuperation and therapy, Diane has unbelievably returned to work. She is knocking barriers out of her way left and right. And I will once again get to stay with her for the reunion. Because she’s still immunocompromised, we’re only going to one of the events—forget the pickleball, tennis matches, school visits, distillery tour, Saturday night dinner dance. And I’m not going to go to any of them without her.
Because I’m even happier to report that I have finally come to my (68-year-old) senses in time to see this trip for what it really is: an opportunity to spend precious time with a true friend. Any nerves about who is going to be there and whether or not I’m dressed flawlessly have dissipated—this might be a high school reunion weekend, but the reunion with Diane is the most important event.
Plus, she won’t care what I’m wearing.
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