Well, I just got back from my 20-year high-school reunion. Let me tell you, it was not at all what I had expected.
To begin with, nobody was how I remembered them. It was as if someone had taken each person’s skin and slid it over an entirely different body — a much larger body. But that’s OK. We all change. Our metabolism catches up with us. It’s really unavoidable. But that wasn’t the oddest part of the day.
The event coordinator thought it might be fun if we all took part in some of the old activities. So they stuffed us into several school busses and drove us down to our old high school. Of course, I ended up having to sit with my feet on the wheel well, right next to the guy who still picks his nose.
When we finally arrived at the school, I couldn’t believe how much it had changed. A 30-foot electrified fence surrounded the perimeter. Armed guards pointed their rifles down at us as we passed by. And to get in, we had to first walk through a metal detector then get frisked from head to toe by one of the security officers. Unfortunately, I had a ballpoint pen in my right front pocket. When they found it, I was tackled to the ground and dragged into a room where I was beaten with wooden rulers and interrogated for over an hour. Apparently, ballpoint pens are verboten.
About two hours later, I was able to join my former classmates at the football field. The jocks were dressed in their extra-large uniforms and were in the process of going through a few of the old plays for our amusement. On the sidelines, the cheerleaders were doing their best to perform their old cheers. And they were doing pretty well. That is, until it came time for the human pyramid. The last girl was supposed to jump off of the trampoline, do a somersault and land on top of the pyramid, feet first. Instead, she ended up crashing into the entire mass of girls and taking them all down. Still, we all applauded, and the cheerleaders who were still able to stand, got up and took a bow.
After the “football game,” we all took the long walk back to the busses. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, so I just walked ahead of everyone. Then I heard one of the jocks yell, “Get ‘im!” And the next thing I knew, I was running for my life.
Of course, I was just as out of shape as I was back in my youth, so it didn’t take long for everyone to catch up. After tripping me and knocking me to the ground, all the guys took turns giving me charlie horses and Indian burns. The ladies even had some fun beating me with their high-heel shoes.
After the guy who still picks his nose finished spitting on me, I wiped away the tears (and spit) and made my way back to the bus. Of course, nobody would let me sit next to them, so I ended up having to stand next to the driver.
And as I stood there watching my former classmates take turns giving me the finger, I realized just how much I missed them all. It was going to be hard not having them around to knock my hat off, to punch me in the stomach, to call me names that slightly rhymed with my real name, to throw objects at my head just to see what kind of sounds they would make, to dunk my head into the toilet until I screamed “uncle,” or to just look at me with either pity or disgust. But I’d get over it. Besides, from what I hear, they’re already planning our 25-year reunion party. Just enough time for me to heal.
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