Class Action 47Th Class Reunion Only Lacked A Companion

Recently I attended my 47th class reunion. I had been bombarded with pre-registration information in January for this event. I dutifully filed it under “Maybe I’ll go, maybe I won’t.” In May another notice arrived requesting money. This one hit the garbage, as I had already decided I wasn’t going.

On the eve of the big event, I decided to go. After all, I hadn’t seen most of my school friends since graduation. When we graduated it was like the novel “The Winds of War.” Most of the males were drafted and the girls began working, faced with a long separation from their sweethearts. Many never returned some settling in far away places and some lost in Korea.

Another strong reason for my attendance was the fact I love to dance. I felt sure none of my old girlfriends would turn down “old twinkle toes” (a nickname I acquired as a senior), if I asked them to dance. Besides there was always the possibility I might be able to rekindle an old flame.

It was so easy. I paid my $24 and stepped back in time 46 years. I hadn’t been to a reunion in 25 years, so this one was special. There were two big differences this time. My ex-wife of 20 years was not along, and I had to read a lot of name tags before I approached a semi-familiar face.

I have been single now for more than 20 years, and it has been an adventure, mixed with high and lows. It takes a great deal of adjustment to go from a wife and four children to an empty apartment. What I have missed most is the companionship, pillow talk and the feeling of intimacy that comes from sharing your love or tender touches with someone through years of togetherness.

As for the name tags at the reunion, they would have been simpler to read if I had just remembered to bring my reading glasses.

Across the room stood Russ, one of my closest friends in high school and college. As I walked over, he extended his hands as we both said in unison, “Great to see you.”

There was Lyle and Carol Ann; he looked fit and trim and Carol Ann was as pretty as ever. The only thing lacking was his football uniform and her cheerleading outfit.

“Hi, Sara, golly it’s great to see you. You did a fantastic job on the committee. How’s your husband?”

“Louie, you remember that time we went hunting and you didn’t have any boots, only Oxfords? It rained and snowed for two days.” Louie just looked up at me and smiled.

And so it went as we reminisced throughout the evening.

The ticket included dinner; I wondered where I would sit as I entered the room. This question was quickly answered as I was hailed by Phyllis and Joanne, two women I hadn’t seen since my last reunion. After introductions to their respective husbands, I took a seat and ordered the salmon. It was delicious and made so much more palatable with the conversation. We laughed as we talked about friends, past weenie roasts, firesides, football games, and the dances we had attended.

After the meal, I was waiting for the music to start when I felt a gentle squeeze on the back of my shoulder and heard the words, “Jim, is that you?” There she was, Joy! She looked just like she did on our last date, a wonderful dancing cruise on a summer moonlit night 47 years ago. I didn’t have to glance at her name tag as I gave her a warm hug. “It’s great to see you, Joy,” I exclaimed. She looked up at me with the warm look I remembered so well. The look turned to pleasant laughter and she said, “I was hoping you’d be here. I want you to meet my new husband.” I hesitated just a moment as I had heard she wasn’t single. I had lost again. We walked to their table where introductions and pleasantries were exchanged. Shortly, I walked away a little befuddled. After all, at one time she had meant a great deal to me.

We danced later and I said, “It’s like old times.” She looked up with a smile and said, “You dumped me once remember?” All I said was “What a mistake that was.” I held her just a little tighter as I knew she would walk away once more after this last dance.

The evening was drawing to a close as I watched my friends head out the door, most of them with wives and husbands, many with new mates. But there were still enough high-school sweethearts holding hands as they departed into the night, enough of them for me to know that love can and does survive.

I grabbed my coat and a dose of reality and headed for my ‘67 Dodge Dart, glad I had come and vowing not to miss the next one, God willing. I made a quick stop at McDonald’s for coffee and a hamburger, not because I was hungry but it just seemed like the right thing to do, sort of a fitting end to the evening. As I sat in my booth at this late hour I watched the high school couples come and go holding hands after a date. I thought to myself, most, if not all, of these kids will attend their 47th year class reunion some day. Hopefully with a little luck and perseverance they won’t be going home alone. Perhaps my time is yet to come.

who lives in Spokane.