More vintage box, I’m having a nostalgia kick…

This vintage Kat Box post was posted on FreakinAsheville.com in 2001.  My secret high school crush is getting married this year, and I’m so pleased for him–he grew up to be a really nice guy in love with a really super girl.

Reunited and It Feels So Good:

A True Story

Kat O.

The letter came in the mail a few months ago announcing my ten-year high school reunion. I stared at it for a long time, and then tossed it in the trash.  In the middle of the night, I jumped out of bed, dug the envelope out of the trash and decided to attend the class picnic.  I would not attend the semi-formal evening affair, nope-no way-forget it.

Thinking about my reunion as the date approached gave me the creeps.  I knew no one would talk to me.  Everyone would be wealthy and fabulous.  I was late to start my chosen career, so I knew everyone would be much more successful than me, probably all CEOs and chairpersons who do power lunches with other fabulous people.

Another reunion reminder came in the mail.  I marked the picnic on my calendar.  I thought about the semi-formal dinner and dance; the perfect dress beckoned me from my closet while I considered attending.  I could make heads turn with my black PVC witchy dress; no one else would dare wear such a thing.  Nope, I didn’t want to make my head-turning entrance to the land of the fabulous people all alone; no date, no dance, no way.  My daughter and I would make an appearance at the picnic, then disappear quietly.

I wondered if my secret high school crush would be at the picnic.  I had a “Pretty in Pink” crush: I was a weirdo freak chick and he was part of the in-crowd.  The movie had a happy ending, but in real life, I never told anyone about my crush.  If I’d confessed to my skater-goth-artsy-freaky friends that I had butterflies in my stomach for one of the in-crowd, they would have revoked my black leather jacket and beaten me senseless with my Chuck Taylors, then scrawled my secret across the bathroom walls with my red lipstick.  I had an obligation to my high school peers to date weirdos, so I did.

On the day of the picnic, I wondered what to wear.  I wanted to look casual yet powerful, relaxed yet stunning.  With my newly broken arm in a full cast, it was hard to get any clothes on at all, forget about looking powerful and stunning.  I ended up in jeans and sneakers, but I think I exuded confidence and charisma…well, maybe.

We gathered at Lake Julian, many classmates with their kids and spouse in tow.  I put on my nametag and hovered on the fringes. 
Bryan brought his daughter over while my daughter and I were feeding the ducks, and that was the icebreaker for me.  I had great conversations with people that I hadn’t seen in a decade, not since our graduation ceremony.  Hairlines had receded, tummies were softer here and there, but we were radiant in the afternoon sun, every single one of us was fabulous.
I was surprised at how friendly everyone was to me.  I was a little freaked out by how happy we were to see each other.  I gave hugs to members of the high school in-crowd and listened to their stories, met wives, husbands and tons of kids.  My classmate Jimmy talked me into attending the dance that evening just so I could get drunk and mock the big-haired chicks.  My secret crush appeared and I blushed scarlet, but played it cool all the same.

In getting ready for the dinner and dance, I wondered what the hell I was doing.  Were they going to dump a bucket of blood on my head during my happiest moment like in that Stephen King story?  I was ready to forget the whole idea, but then decided to go just to have one beer with Jimmy and his wife…but what to wear?  The PVC dress wouldn’t go over the cast on my arm, and neither would my eight other choices.  Just when I was ready to wear a Hefty cinch sack, I found a plain black dress that fit over my purple cast and away I went.  I left my nametag off because I grew tired of telling people at the picnic I was divorced; without the tag bearing my last name, they’d be none the wiser.

I was nervous coming into the room alone, but the jitters dissolved when I saw familiar faces from the past.  There were so many people there to hug and catch up with, many who weren’t at the picnic earlier in the day.  It took several beers to endure watching adults do the electric slide on the dance floor. After several more beers, I was unofficially nominated “Most Likely To Kick Someone’s Ass.”   I kept glancing up to make sure there was no bucket of blood over my head.

We talked and drank and laughed.  We confessed and conspired.  We knew all the lyrics to Tone Loc’s songs.  I told a crowd about my secret crush and swore them to secrecy; they were all so intoxicated that I am pretty sure my secret is safe for eternity.  I stole the occasional glance at my crush and determined him to be just as handsome as always.

It was time to go home too soon.  Classmates had planes to catch or long drives ahead of them the next day.  We were tired, the hour was late and the ball was over at the stroke of midnight, everyone returning to his or her normal lives in a blink.

On my drive home, I considered the ten years ahead of me.  At our twenty-year reunion, I will have a teenage daughter.  I will be nearing forty years old next time we gather as a class.  The most important thing on my mind as I pulled into my driveway: I hope my PVC dress still fits me in a decade.

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