confessions of a nonlinearmind

My high school reunion - conclusion

I’ve been meaning to write about my high school reunion last weekend but have been procrastinating. I think maybe I needed some time to process it all, because I think it was a life-changing experience for me. As I had written previously, I found this inexplicable desire to go to my reunion, despite not really remembering anybody, and because of the fact that I was never very popular, often depressed and always an outcast.

So I get to the reunion, held at a local bar and restaurant that had a reception hall downstairs. When I say “downstairs” I literally mean “down” “stairs” - no elevator. I assume that the building had not changed ownership since they passed the ADA and it was grandfathered exempt. No problem, the bouncer and one of the waiters was used to carrying people down the stairs. I’ve done it before. I just hold onto my chair for dear life while they carry me down Pharaoh-style.

So I entered the reception hall, and there’s a bunch of grown-ups standing around! I shyly make my way to the reception table to get my name tag, and I’m immediately recognized by Teddy, one of my best friends from middle school and the person that organized a reunion. I hardly remember him, but he remembered me well, down to specific jokes I made. It was a relief. Somebody remembered me. So I began to mingle, I hardly recognized anybody. Many of the faces looked familiar, but it’s amazing what 15 years can add to a person.

I don’t feel like I’m 34. I think it’s because of my injury and the fact that my life grinded to a halt for so many years. I feel like I’m 29 still. Aside from being in a wheelchair, I think that I’ve aged better than most. Part of that has to do with the fact that I lost 30 pounds after I was injured and therefore not overweight. So I would strike up conversations with people that were mingling around and I began to feel very comfortable.

I came to the realization that, unless you did something really horrible, everyone remembers the best of you in high school. They didn’t see me struggling, or notice that I had withdrawn from their particular crowd. While they may have been in the popular crowd while I was an outcast, from their perspective, I must’ve just been in with some other equal crowd that they just weren’t aware of. And because of that, everyone is on even footing. We’re strangers who know each other in some way. It was comforting.

I think that the moment that may have changed my life came when I was mingling around. There was a group of four women who were part of the popular crowd, the pretty girls. I started to approach, but was apprehensive for a moment. They were all talking to each other, and part of me, the shy, awkward teenager inside of me said not to interrupt, to hide in the corner. But something clicked in my head. I think that I was able to step outside myself and see myself objectively for once. I realized that I’m a decent looking guy who can carry a conversation and is comfortable with the reality of being a wheelchair. This is who I am. I’m not that awkward teenager anymore. So I went right up to them and introduced myself. And that’s how the night continued.

It’s funny how, in these group situations, everyone buys me drinks. I started a tab, but never put anything on it because somebody would always say “I’m heading up to the bar, can I get you anything?” I would say yes and tell them to put my drink on my tab, and they would always insist that it was on them. Who was I to argue!

I did meet some people that I used to hang out with, and many of them still live in the area. I even discovered that a current neighbor down the street was in my graduating class. We exchanged phone numbers and have vowed to get together at some point in the coming weeks.

The event was fun, but not wild, which was a bit sobering. But then, we’re not in our 20s anymore. The entire event was over by midnight. I remember one time when I was 20, at a wild party in college. I was having the time of my life. When I was in the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror, right in my eyes, and told myself to never forget this moment. This was what being young was all about. I’ve never forgotten that. It’s as if, in that one moment, I was somehow compelled to think of the future and able to see myself in the moment.

Maybe that same force is what compelled me to go to my high school reunion. Somewhere inside of me, I needed to go. I needed to redefine myself in so many ways. I’m not that outcast anymore. You all may not have remembered me that way, and now you never will. Nor will you see me as the able-bodied person you may remember. This is who I am. Remember me like this.

I’ll see you all in five years.