The 50th high school reunion. Classmates from way back are like good chocolate cake to be enjoyed on special occasions. This was one of those occasions. The Golden Grizzly one.
“You guys gotta co-operate. The light will go out in fifteen minutes,”
All of us get quiet and look up.
“Give me a Queen Anne cheer!”
We raise our hands and yell.
“Phffft! I’m from Garfield and we know what a cheer is.”
We all raise both hands and give a whooper yell. Snap. Snap. Snap.
“Now one more.”
Snap. “That’s it.” (See http://qa.mhilliard.com for the results.)
We loosen up from the big squeeze and inch our way to the dining room.
The Seattle Golf and Country Club is posh but affordable. The club has a welcoming feeling. It’s like an oversized wooden frame ranch house. The southern colonial style is a distant taller relative. Gone With the Wind comes to mind.
There’s memorabilia for sale. I choose a grey T-shirt with a picture of Queen Anne school, size small, for the stuffed Grizzly bear I brought from New York City. It fits perfectly. Grizzly is our mascot.
There are about two hundred of us for dinner with spouses and relatives. Marilyn and Gretchen are the friends with whom I’ve stayed connected. Marilyn is making sure that our old clique sits together. Like the rhythm of nature (the tides, the breath, the day & night, the seasons,) we expanded our lives and now contract back to our closest friends of that 1950’s time.
I sit for a while and then make my way towards the buffet table. I’m starved and hope that there’s something veggie. The line is long and I’m almost at the end of it. In back of me is Marge W. She uses a walker, one of those that you can turn and sit on. She is cheerful and determined.
“What happened to you?”
“Chemotherapy damaged my hips and I fell. Thank God I didn’t break anything.”
We finally reach the buffet. There’s an abundant display of vegetables. I pass the Caesar salad and go for the tomatoes, asparagus, beans, cucumbers, artichoke hearts and other fresh veggies. We come upon a raised section where a beautiful gelatin fish sits as if overlooking its kingdom. The colors in the long body are gold and red and orange and black and glisten in the lights. I almost comment when I see the head is of a real fish. Its mouth is open as if in a silent cry for help. It gave its life for the short splendor of this night. The American Damien Hirst.
I glance at the red meat table, as I help myself to a generous portion of roasted potatoes. And make my way back to where Marilyn and Keith are sitting. Marilyn is regal with her silver hair coiffed to perfection and a pearl necklace with diamond pin to accent her black dress. Her elegant appearance betrays the memory that she was once rather wild and carefree. Now here sits a caring responsible wife, mother and friend. She’s always biting her good-natured husband on the behind and gets away with it. Still as in school, it takes hours for her to get ready and she’s always late. She’s the salt of the earth.
Patti is sitting at my right. She’s looking sexy with her low neckline and at the same time intellectual with black-rimmed round eyeglasses. I must have known Patti in a previous life. I feel so comfortable with her.
I never caught the football craze. The football heroes seemed to have mellowed. Budd for instance. Football didn’t begin to tap into his energy. He was rough and at times surprisingly kind. I remember him guiding Gail’s brother Jim, who was blind, from building to building at the UW. Budd has a business degree from Harvard and restaurants all over the Seattle area. He generously supplied half of the food for the pre-reunion party.
Another football star, Ross Kramer, and I chat. He’s been a decorated war hero in Viet Nam, a lawyer, a motorcycle buff, and a mentor to vets returning from Iraq. I’m fascinated by his stories. He was the only one out of twelve planes that survived an attack in Viet Nam. War is not an upbeat topic but I pursue it in spite of my better sense. I feel that only part of him is here. To ground himself he lingers near Linda V.
Linda’s always loved horses. And she loved looking beautiful. She used to spend hours putting her long hair into perfect pin curls combing out into the perfect roll. Now she goes with a shorter modern cut. She’s turning heads tonight with her oo la la dress that hugs her size 00 figure.
“I live in a barn most of the time, so why not dress up?”
Yes! Why not?
Joel is next to Patti at our dining table. She used to be a fashion statement with the outfits made by her mom. Her hair was slicked with goo into a feminine ducktail. She was quiet and reserved but a competitive athlete. Tonight- dynamite: designer eyeglasses, sleek fitting pants and a glistening top. Bubbly and friendly and fun. Her spiritual path has lit a fire within her and she’s sharing the warmth with everyone.
Paul B sits next to me for a couple of minutes. He and his wife have a party in their home before the reunion night. Paul’s voice can be like thunder. He’s a born performer. He chose the rational and lucrative path of a Harvard grad lawyer.
“I hear you’re thinking of giving another party in three years.”
“Yeah. At this stage of the game, no telling when the lights will go out.”
Ah yes, I think to myself we've come to the existential death thing. It used to be the existential marriage and career thing.
Don G smiles and looks down at me. He’s tall and so has to stoop to talk. He’s pleasant and good-looking. He wants to make sure that I announce the name of his skit. It’s a tongue twister. I’m also obsessed. At Sally Marshall’s suggestion, I wrote a skit. I was to do it with Chuck aka Eric. He canceled. Then, with Betty aka Erika; she got bronchitis. Gretchen, who I’m rooming with at the Holiday Express stepped up to the plate.
It’s time for us to go on. Gretchen is in cheerleader mode. I start with the microphone and try passing it to Gretchen. She tells me later that I clutch the mike. Who knows? It’s like she’s made it over the rainbow and she’s in heaven projecting her voice and her persona to a football field. I can’t find a balance with her. Then Steve the MC throws his arrow headband at Gretchen. This must mean we’re not funny enough. Gretchen tries to accommodate. Somehow she loses her script. Undaunted Gretchen continues. Squinting, I’m trying to see the script in the shady light and barely look up. Some folks are holding a loud dialogue of their own to the left of me.
Thank God I edited out my ode to Paul S and vegetarianism. How can I be doing this to Sally Marshall? And she was so supportive when I was going through my cancer thing. Ah well…
The end mercifully comes. I think to myself, “Where was our drama teacher, Mr. Pollette, when we needed him most?”
Gretchen has been all fluttery from the moment I met her at the airport. She laughs at nothing like when we were kids. And she stands at the window and cries looking at Mount Rainer. Seattle resonates with her DNA. And she hasn’t smoked the whole time. Pretty good for forty plus years of inhaling.
I enjoy the cool fresh Seattle air and seeing the PI Globe where my dad was Circulation Manager. Mt. Rainier is beautiful but it doesn’t reaffirm my existence, as it seems to do with Gretchen. This mountain is actually a friend of hers. But then again Seattle is the arena where Gretchen’s mettle was tested. Seattle and Queen Anne in particular was where she slew the dragon of grief when her dad died. Instead of despairing, she chose to hone her strengths. She became the beacon of her family and a person of notice. Starting from cheerleader on, later to Homecoming Queen there was no stopping her. She was determined to swim not sink. Mt. Rainier rising magnificently from the foggy horizon resonates with her personal story.
Well we’re pretty special. Getting together over the years like this. And all looking so young. We have what Nancy’s husband calls “glue.” We’re blessed in that we recognize it. Starting with Nancy Trout’s Bible 58 – a reference for all of us. And the committee members whose dedication pulled them through a year and a half of planning … A BIG SHOUT OUT ---THANK YOU!
© copyright 2009 marian hailey-moss