When two worlds collide

I want tell you one thing before I get into a story about my high school reunion. I’m not at my best today.

First, I have a wicked cold. Second, I haven’t slept well in more than a week. My brain is only at half power. I know this because my daughter asked me to fix her Lego house this morning, one that I’ve rebuilt about 25 times. I couldn’t figure out how to do it and got so frustrated that I threw it to the other side of the room, breaking it into individual Lego bits.

She cried.

My performance as a mother this morning was a C- at best. I’m filled with bad mother guilt.

Third, I’m sort of feeling that black hole sensation. You know, that feeling that your life is about to fall apart? That sensation. It’s not rational, of course. My life really isn’t about to fall apart (right????). I wish I could tell that to the sinking feeling I have in the pit of my stomach, though.

I usually can blame the Black Hole on hormones, but today I’m blaming it on NPR’s Morning Edition. I made the mistake of listening to it today.

Big mistake. You see, even though I have a subscription to the daily newspaper and to the Sunday New York Times, I rarely read either. Even though I have NPR programmed into one of those little memory buttons on my car radio, I rarely listen to it because I’m usually listening to something much more soothing, like the Blues Clues soundtrack.

So, while the sun (also known as Wall Street) has been evolving into a super nova these past few weeks, I haven’t been the least bit concerned. I’ve been in a cozy state of ignorant oblivion.

Then I listened to NPR and some really mean guy came on the radio and told me that the End of Days are upon us. It was either that or something about the Great Depression rearing its ugly head all over again. Same thing really.

I preferred oblivion to despair. No more NPR or newspapers for me for at least a month.

And, so, I hope you understand why I’m having a wee bit of a hard time telling you this light, airy story about my 20th high school reunion. Yet, I think it might actually have a point (just a small one, though), so I will attempt to tell it anyway.

ME WITH A BAD PERM

So, slightly more than 20 years ago, I had a really bad perm. I was also really shy. I never really felt as if I fit in. In high school, I was in constant fear of dropping my books, tripping over my feet, or just generally saying something really stupid.

I never felt comfortable in that place. Just thinking about that building gives me an uneasy, there’s a serial-killer-hiding-in-the-closet sensation.

Which is why I almost didn’t go to my reunion. I knew I would feel self-conscious all over again. Why inflict so much stress on myself?

I’ll tell you why. Facebook. I’m on there. Yep, go ahead and friend me. I’m doing my best to be Facebook popular and, wouldn’t you know it, I already have 60 friends! And some of them went to my high school. Something about reading their status updates and seeing pictures of their kids made me want to see them in person. So I went, and I told Mr. Strong and Silent that his presence was required.

At the reunion, I learned:

• Women get sexier and prettier as they age. Most of my female classmates look better now than they did in high school. The men? Not going there.

• Our most famous classmate is actually infamous. He was recently released from the super maximum security Pelican Bay prison, a place where he was considered “a prison guard’s worst nightmare” with his 58 offenses committed behind bars.

• The word “priest” does not necessarily equal “un-cool.” One of my classmates is now an Episcopal priest, and boy can he cut the rug on the dance floor.

• Two worlds can collide, and it’s really no big deal.

About that last point: my husband has always been a tad uncomfortable with the fact that he’s not the only guy I’ve ever dated or slept with. Early in our relationship he asked me to never ever tell him about past boyfriends.

So, ten years ago, when I took him to my 10-year reunion, I expertly maneuvered the room in such a way as to never be caught next to—and therefore have to strike up a conversation with—my high school boyfriend, who is also known as the boy who took me to the senior prom. Let’s just call him Eggy, as that’s what we all called him in high school. I no longer remember why.

So here I am at my 20-year reunion and I see Eggy over by the bar. I accidentally catch his eye and immediately look away. This happens, oh, I don’t know, about 353 times during the evening. I think to myself, “I’d kind of like to know how Eggy is doing, but I don’t know how Mr. Strong and Silent would feel about that. Better just stay away.” So, for most of the evening, I did.

Until I didn’t.

TWO WORLDS COLLIDE

It happened by accident, really. Mr. Strong and Silent was standing off in the corner, presumably watching the baseball game on the bar TV. I was talking to a female friend and, the next thing I know, so was Eggy. He said a shy, “Hi.” I said a shy “Hi.” We looked at our feet and then back up. It was all very Sixteen Candlesish. We said a few lines to each other to fill the awkward space between us, and then he asked, “So are you married?”

I said, “Yes, to the guy standing in the corner over there.” I pointed to Mr. Strong and Silent. He saw me pointing.

What to do? What to do?

I waved him over. Mr. Strong and Silent approached. I introduced the two. I introduced Eggy by his real name, though, and I didn’t bother to mention the prom.

Eggy said, “Yeah, I’m married, too. My wife is around here somewhere.”

We talked some more, exchanging the basic rundown of stats that one generally exchanges at these things: number of kids, career track, current geographic location, cholesterol readings, that sort of thing.

I learned that Eggy and I once lived in the same town–on the same street. Neither of us knew the other was living nearby, so we didn’t look one another up, which was a good thing as I was already dating Mr. Strong and Silent at that point.

I’m assuming a man who was uncomfortable knowing about his girlfriend’s past boyfriends would have been even MORE uncomfortable knowing that one such past boyfriend was still very much in her life and living on the same block.

Yes, it was best for all of us that Eggy and I somehow never walked out of our apartments at the same moment and actually bumped into one another.

We exchanged a few more details about our lives. Then we parted ways.

I said to Mr. Strong and Silent, “That was my high school boyfriend. We went to the prom together. He was a wrestler.”

He said, “Oh.”

I asked, “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

He said, “No, not at all.”

So I went on to tell him a few high school stories. He seemed to enjoy them. Soon, I said, “I’m ready to leave. I just want to sneak out of here. I don’t want to do the whole good-bye, let’s hug thing. Ready?”

He was. He totally understood where I was coming from.

We walked out, hand in hand.

Since that night, three people from my high school friended me on facebook. Eggy wasn’t one of them.

Did this have a point? I’m not sure, but I’m glad I told the story.

TODAY’S PROJECT POINTERS

• Go to your high school reunion. Don’t worry about how fat or old or bald you think you are. Everyone else pretty much looks the same way, too.

• Friend me on Facebook. The End of Days will be much more fun if we all face them together.

• If you are worried about the state of the world, just stop reading the newspaper or watching TV. You can’t do a single thing about it, so you might as well pretend it’s not happening. Ignorance is bliss.