The 20

"Here goes nothing," I say, and we walk across the parking lot, past the maroon and gold balloons, through the double doors and into the golf course clubhouse full of who knows who. And for a split second, it is like high school all over again, because, faced with a room full of people, all I want to do is leave. But, I have paid my money, and I'll take my chances. High school was a long time ago-- 20 years, in fact. And oh look, the bar.

With my margarita and an invitation to a table, the night begins to fall into place, and while it never really gets less surreal, it does get more fun. I sit for a bit, resisting the urge to tell one of our tablemates that she turned out way better than I ever imagined she would and going with, "You look great!" instead. I look around the room, matching up the faces at the banquet tables to the virtual yearbook photos in my head--subtracting hair, adding a few pounds, thanking baby Jesus for name tags--and then I go mingle with people I've mostly known since grade school but haven't seen since the 80s, and how odd is that.

Somehow, it turns out to be fun and satisfying in way that's hard to explain. I don't even know what we talked about that filled so many hours-- just the most basic of catching up--married or not, kids or not, jobs or not,--who's here, who's not, who do you know, who do you see, where have ya been. Isn't this something, don't I know it, great to see ya, though. There are very few trips down memory lane, few remember whens, but I think we all feel good to be with people who did know us when, even if--especially if-- nobody feels like telling the stories. I laugh when somebody has his, "I love you guys," moment, and he hurriedly adds, "no really, even if I hadn't been drinking, I'd still love you guys. You're who I grew up with." And that we are.

The reunion committee, last remaining clique of the class of '87, seems to think this night was about high school, or even, heaven forbid, that we are still in high school or that those rules still apply. They're even more wrong about that than they were when they didn't try to track the rest of us down. It is about the past, of course, and reconnecting, and a little seeing and being seen, but that's not really the same as high school. Except for the urinal photos. And the tickets for racing down the highway on the way to the afterparty. I admit--as a witness, not participant--that was pretty high school. But it was only 20 years: how much do you expect people to change?