Shared history connects us: we remember that a kindergarten classmate loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, that another had an emergency appendectomy in sixth grade, that a father disappeared.
We celebrate having been in the same place at the same time, years ago, and again for five hours, now. Classmates group up by junior high. Photos are taken. Arms around shoulders and waists, beer and wine glasses raised to the camera. Ridgeview rocks! Redwood rules! We know things about each other.
Long ago, we practiced awkward romance. Holding hands on Route 66, slow dancing in the gym while a cover band crooned Roy Orbison's "Only the Lonely." There must have been hundreds of first kisses among us. We learned together. A gang of girls who lunched together on the lawn told dirty jokes to each other. We gathered close and giggled. This is how I learned about erections. I don't know how much the others already knew.
First love, unrequited love, wrong person love, promiscuous love, sad-ending love and still-going love. We practiced love together all those years ago. We brought some of that with us last weekend. The reunion of decidedly grownup kids felt like love.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment