There can be nothing that hammers home the cruel reality of the merciless march of time like a school reunion. And there can be nothing worse than facing your old classmates and contempories after 21 years without a glass of wine to hide behind. Never one to shy away from a challenge of course, I decided it was time to kick the drink and the junk food the very same week as my High School reunion, opting to drive rather than drown my sorrows in a nice glass of rose vino!
If I'm honest I was searching for excuses not to go right up until I got into the car. The baby is teething and miserable, I'm suffering post-pregnancy weight gain, my hair is breaking off at the roots, and I have a wardrobe of clothes that would make Gok Wan scream in horror. There were so many reasons NOT to go that I was amazed to find myself sitting outside my friend Alison's house, papping the horn ready to whisk her off to the venue. Part of the reason I had got this far was out of guilt that I had badgered another old classmate, Karen, to organise the bloody thing and took no part in helping with the preparations other than sending one or two emails to a few folk who needed to know about it! Despite this, I was absolutely definitely only going for an hour or two. I confidently declared to Alison that I would only show my face and would be leaving by ten at the latest.
I eventually staggered out, tottering on painful heels, at 1am the following morning, having had the most fantastic evening - still sober and safe to drive a couple of friends home. Despite a few awkward moments when old chums smiled and greeted me warmly and I didn't have a bloody clue who they were, It had been a fabulous night if for nothing more than the embarrassing foot-in-mouth, dig-a-hole, crawl-up-your-own-backside moments of my friends.
One example was my friend Clare's bottom-clenching case of mistaken identity, when she walked up to the pretty, red-headed Julie, threw her arms about her and shouted "Hi Sarah! How are you? How's John?" to which Julie politely disentangled herself from Clare's warm embrace and replied "I'm not Sarah." indicating to the only other, rather plump, red-head in the building.
And then there was Emma who patted the tummy of another old classmate, squealing "Oh Debbie, congratulations! When are you due?" to which Debbie replied "No, I'm not pregnant, I'm just fat." Please ground, swallow me up!
The evening flew, the conversation flowed and it was great to see so many old faces. I particularly enjoyed having a laugh with the few lads I recognised, mostly due to the fact there weren't many of them that turned up and of those that did, I didn't recognise half of them! But what upset me the most was seeing the last twenty-odd years etched on the faces of my old classmates. I wrongly presumed that me and the friends I have kept in touch with since school hadn't aged too badly in comparison, but then when I heard a particularly older-looking class peer declare the same to her friend, I realised that it must be that I'm just used to seeing my face and the faces of my friends, and that familiarity doesn't make the passage of time so distinct.
I left the reunion glad I had attended and happy to have caught up with so many lovely people, but I can honestly say that I had no desire to add any phone numbers to my contacts list. I felt more convinced than ever that I have, in fact, kept in touch with the people who mean the most to me and that whilst it was nice to catch up with some of the others, the moments we shared and connections we made, whilst important, have long since gone and are best kept in the past.
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