The first Saturday in February is the traditional reunion day. I avoided these events for years, but last year, at the market, I was tugged by the sleeve of my jacket by some fat woman:
– Hello!
– Hello…
– Didn’t you find out who you were cheating off of?!
– Sarah…?
– Thank God! Twenty years of graduation this year, we finally get to see you?
The classmate was clearly not complex about her voluminous figure, continuing to spout all kinds of nonsense. She was in the party planning group, and took me at my word to come to the meeting. She didn’t limit her words to words, she wrote down my phone number, and threatened to check up on me personally. Then, with a kiss on the cheek, Aunt Sarah said goodbye, and I stood for some time, confused, looking after a receding woman, so unlike the Sarah-candy, which all the boys looked at.
I had to keep my word, because Sara really controlled me, calling every other day, reported who was coming from out of town, and when she asked to transfer the “fee” for the dinner at the restaurant on her card, I realized that the way back is cut off…
As I suspected, the meeting was quite an ordeal, at least for me. Strongly changed classmates coquettishly smiled at the compliments of classmates, half of whom I could not recognize, as they did me, had to introduce themselves, and then surprised and also rash with compliments, so as not to “fall out of line.
After that everything was traditional. At the table everybody in turn told briefly about themselves, everybody tried to tell the audience about their achievements, no one remembered their mistakes, maybe it was not the right thing to do. Ran through the school routine, remembered the teachers, all together said “thank you!” to those present at the meeting. Naturally, all school confrontations, both with teachers and classmates were seen in a completely different light.
About three hours into the meeting, I noticed that we couldn’t find topics to talk about. All the memorable moments had run their course, their “exploits” too, and the void began to be filled with more frequent toasts.
In between toasts there was a disco where almost forty-year-old uncles and aunts tried to get into rhythm with the music. Some of them managed it pretty well, but most of them looked quite sad, and someone was sitting on a chair and a half, unable to look away from the food on the table…
All ended well, without incident, although three still had to be loaded onto the bus that was ordered for the “schoolchildren”.
The next day I did not want to remember the event, and to be honest, I did not want to call my classmates …
I made a vow to myself not to go to any more of these meetings, even anniversary ones. It is enough for me to flip through the school yearbook and exchange congratulations on social networking sites. Of course, if I need to help any of my classmates in their line of work, I will help, hopefully, as they do me, but regular communication is better excluded.
We will not go back to those school years, no matter how attractive they may seem to us from a distance, it is better to live in today’s day, to communicate with current colleagues and acquaintances, easily recognized in the stream of passersby…
