Class Reunion

My mumbletyth class reunion was this past weekend. As the date approached, I had sixty-three good reasons not to go. I was going to skip it this round, but then I looked at the list of people who'd already RSVP'd.

Sandy Kincaid's name jumped out at me.

For years, I've wondered what happened to her. In those first tentative days, back in 7th grade, we'd started to become friends. But then, she became the target of the class bullies. Her sin? Growing from four foot nothing to 5'8 in about six months, and developing a full woman's chest along the way.

I'm ashamed to say I backed away from her when the others started to torment her. I'd come out of a school where I was bullied myself, and had hoped to be able to get lost in the new school, which is a large, regional, junior high school.

And then - my memory blanks out. My mom died when I was in high school, and there's a large swath of time where I have few memories. Except for a few stutters, my memory paused shortly after the start of seventh grade, and picks up again partway through my senior year. (I presume it's a form of PTSD.)

Sandy has drifted in and out of my musings for years. I hoped I'd just backed away. Surely, I hadn't joined in the teasing, in a vain attempt to move the gaze of the bullies on from myself. Had I? (If I had joined in, trying to avoid her fate, it hadn't worked. Turned out they could pick on more than one kid at once.)

I've wanted to know the answer to that question for years, wanted to believe I had been kind. I'd even tried to track her down on Facebook once upon a time, but hadn't had any luck. Seeing her name on the reunion list, I added my own. It was time and past time to get my question answered.

I got to the event shortly after it started. Within five minutes, Sandy and her husband walked in the door. I hadn't seen her since graduation, but I knew her face in an instant; confirmed my knowledge with a glance at her name tag. (The event organizers created the name tags with their audience in mind - the font on the tags was big enough to read without having to pull out reading glasses. I wasn't the only one grateful to them for their foresight and thoughtfulness.)

I gathered my courage, walked up to her, and told her she was the main reason I'd come to the reunion. Much to my relief, she looked up, greeted me with a big smile, turned, and introduced me to her husband as a long-ago friend.

** whew **

We chatted of our current lives for a bit; where we live, numbers and ages of children, what we'd done in the world of work. I then turned the conversation to those long-ago days. I told her of the holes in my memory, I asked her how long the 'teasing' had continued. I asked her if I'd ever joined in the catcalls.

Much to my relief, she promptly said, "No. You never joined in. You were never one of them. They kept it up for a while, but I steadfastly ignored them, and they eventually tired of me and found other, more reactive, targets." Once she said that, the mental picture returned - I can see her striding purposefully down the hallway, face flaming, but head held high, ignoring the taunts as they deserved to be ignored. I remembered we never became good friends, but it was mostly because we didn't share many classes, not because I'd dropped her cold.

I can't tell you how much better that made me feel. I may not have had the fortitude to stand up to her tormentors with her, but at least my sin was one of omission - I'd not committed the sin of joining in. We talked a bit more, then were pulled apart by the dance of the crowd.

I enjoyed the rest of the evening more than I'd anticipated. Turns out I've become the kind of person I wished I was back in the days when I was being ignored by the cool girls, back when I carried my own 'bully me' target with me through the halls.

I can walk into a room where I don't recognize anyone, introduce myself, start a conversation, and enjoy the interaction. I know which clothes are the right ones to wear - not too much, not too casual, and I know to pick comfortable outfits. Perhaps more importantly, I am comfortable in my own skin.

I talked to anyone whose name sounded vaguely familiar, and as the evening wore on, I found some of my memories returning. I caught up on the joys and sorrows of several old friends, I found smiles and welcome every way I turned. There were a few of those bullies there - I walked right past them, taking inordinate glee in noting they really had not aged well.

As the evening grew late, and my feet grew sore, I realized the conversations had soothed some raw spots I didn't know existed in my soul. As I said my goodbyes, I turned to look for Sandy one more time, but she'd already slipped out.

I am glad to know she's made a good life, found love, raised a great group of children.
I am greatly relieved to know I was one of the good spots in her life during those tough years.

Sixty-three good reasons not to go - I'm glad I listened to the voice telling me there was one good reason to show up.