Going to my high school reunion was like stepping into Michael J. Fox’s Delorian and blazing a trail back in time. I’m not on Facebook, so I’ve heard hide nor hair of most of these people since we walked across that rather shaky stage and took our diplomas, but some things never change. My friend Adam’s greeting upon my entrance was, “Hey, you’re not dead!” and a few other utterances throughout the evening served to prove that he’s just as charming and obnoxious as ever. Except now also the father of three.
There was the cheerleader/Homecoming Queen/Miss GHS coming up to hug me like we were good friends back then (we weren’t); the brashy redhead who was my on again/off again friend, the only girl I’ve ever met who’s just as willful and sarcastic and stubborn as me (she still is); and the rest of the rather popular eight who besides different hairstyles and slightly better fashion sense hadn’t changed much. We even sang our football team’s fight song, and after doing choo-choo arms in a conga line around the room to the Train song, I had to double check the date on my phone. Arriving back to the soft, sleeping darkness of my parents’ house, the lamp in my room left on like years before, I almost looked in my bookbag for unfinished homework. (I hope Mark will be in class on Monday!!!)
My friend Jessica told me I looked totally different. I told her I just straightened my hair. Maybe it's because I've lived lifetimes since then. Or maybe it's because they finally got to see me dance.
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