It was our 20-year school reunion on Saturday night. The Burp and I tootled along in a state of high excitement only to be suddenly overtaken by a ludicrous attack of nerves as we arrived. The venue was crowded and hot and this, combined with my somewhat elevated heart beat, left me looking a bit scatty and wild-eyed for the evening. But then I went home and checked out an old school annual and, whaddya know, not much has changed.
I was glad I was there with The Burp. She and I were each other's personal cheer squad. Our old deputy principal showed up. He asked me what I was doing with myself, what grand works of art I had produced. I had to confess I'd come up a bit short on the grand works of art. I felt like I'd been caught without my homework diary, or with my shoes unpolished, or pushing in in line at morning recess to get a hot cheese roll. Luckily The Blessed Burp was there to intercede on my behalf. She poked her head in and said, "But she does write a terrific blog!" Then someone else came up and started talking to him about his recent legal troubles and we took the opportunity to shove off.
Dr Zhivago and Shaggy showed up fashionably late, for they are both tragically hip. I thought they'd be the only ones to bother coming from interstate, but it turned out quite a few had made the effort. Some people brought their spouses or partners or whatever. This added to my confusion and panic when I saw a face that meant nothing, "Who the hell is that?! I told you I wouldn't recognise anyone!"
Even The Antiquer, known recluse, showed up. He had called me on Friday morning to let me know he'd be there but would be maintaining an ironic distance. I marvelled at his presence to Hong Kong Fooey. We watched him talking animatedly to someone. "You know what he's like!" said HKF. "He'll be feeding on this for weeks."
It was a fun evening. The only blight on festivities was when we were herded into a room for a group photo and ex-deputy principal guy stood up to say a few meaningful words. He started it all by making a crack harking back to the days of school camps. Suddenly the walls closed in and started spinning and I could feel myself being sucked down a tube, sucked back to 1986, to being sixteen years old. "Noooo!" I shrieked (in my head, I think, but it was a pretty noisy room), "Noooo! I'm slightly grown up now! I don't want to be sixteen again!"
Luckily, just then The Burp returned with some drinks and I knew everything was okay, I wasn't still at high school because, hey, I'm old enough to drink and drive!
1 comment:
Sometimes it's great to remember you're not 16 anymore. But then, I was 21 in 1986 and I'd happily go back. (For a day or two.)
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