Five Years And One Right Turn (1) Five years. I told myself that couldn’t be accurate, but, alas, it was. I looked down at the folded piece of paper that held the invitation to my five-year high school reunion and sighed. High school, what a time. There’s no real way to describe the ups and downs of my high school years. Do you want to know why? Because there are no ups, only downs, and I prefer not to think about them. That meant that I definitely shouldn’t go. Why on earth would I want to bring back all those memories when I’d just spent five years trying to repress them? I was pretty sure I’d have plans on the day of the reunion anyway. Just out of curiosity, I went over to check the calendar stapled to my apartment wall. April 30th was blank. Damn. I glanced down at the pencil on the table, debating whether or not to jot it down, just in case, when the phone rang. I picked it up and heard the excited but annoying voice of my friend Alexis. “Did you get it? Did you get the mail? Dear God, I’m excited!” she exclaimed. I held the earpiece away from my ear as to avoid a burst ear drum. “Excited about what? Seeing all the kids that made life hell and that have probably still not grown up yet? Yeah, count me out; I’d rather do something more fun. Like die for example,” I replied, hearing an almost exasperated sigh from the other end of the receiver. “It was not that bad, Amy. Sometimes I think you’re too overdramatic. High school was not a jail, and don’t you want to see who got fat?” Not a jail? Are you kidding me? No windows, freezing temperatures and locked doors. Oh no, that doesn’t sound like a jail at all. It’s more of a containment room in an insane asylum to be more accurate. Except they didn’t put you there because you were insane, they put you there to insure that one day you would be. You see, we’re in school for a total of 720 days, give or take a few. I think this is some sort of new age torture. I am actually pretty positive that after being “institutionalized” for 721 days, that is when you go completely insane. Seven hundred and twenty only leaves you damaged, which you will realize in later years, say when you get your invitation to your first high school reunion. The appearance at the reunion is like a drug addict’s relapse. You’re fine, until you get one more taste. That’s my theory anyway. “Amy? Are you stoned again? Pay attention to me! We’re going to the reunion and you’re going to enjoy yourself so help me God!” she triumphantly finished. I blandly replied, “No, I crashed hours ago, and to tell you the truth, death is definitely right before the reunion on my list of things to do at the moment. But I’ll tell you what, you buy drinks afterwards and I’ll go. Maybe.” And that was my final offer. “ALL RIGHT! I knew you’d come around. You just wait, it’ll be fun and exciting and oh my God what am I going to wear? I have to go shopping. I’ll call you back later, love ya bye.” And with that I heard a click and then the tone of a dead line. Great. If there was ever a time I wasn’t looking forward to school, it’d be now. It’d also be every single day of school for that matter, but this was a real get-you-downer. This time, instead of a summer, I only had a week to decide what to wear and how to avoid everyone. With the unpleasant reminder from Alexis about what to wear, I hesitantly walked over to my poor excuse for a closet and yanked open the door (it got stuck sometimes). Flailing my arm aimlessly, my fingers came upon the rough texture of the string that turned on the dim light bulb carelessly hung from the ceiling. I yanked on that, similar to the fashion of the yanking that the door required, except the string broke and the door miraculously remained intact. I tossed the piece of string nonchalantly aside and stood back, looking at the selection of clothes I had, which was very unimpressive. I saw my ripped up jeans, black t-shirts, more jeans, and more black t-shirts. Mixed in with that homogenous solution was a lone red shirt that read “All my black shirts are dirty.” I laughed at myself. Below the vast array of outfit options, were a few boxes of dressier clothes. I hauled them out and plopped myself down on the couch with one box between my legs. I tore open the first box and picked up a gorgeous red dress that I remembered from prom. I also saw the dirt-stained bottom, which reminded me of how I walked home after seeing my date and boyfriend at the time, Drew, sucking face with some whore from Hustisford. Ah yes, prom, what a magical night. I threw the dress aside and reached down into the box again, this time pulling out a broken-heeled shoe, again from the glorious night that was prom. I decided to fold this box right back up and place it back in storage, coming back with another box. This one contained less memorable items of clothing, most likely ones that I was forcibly made to wear when I needed to be presentable at family gatherings. The first shirt I pulled out was a black collared one that buttoned up the middle. I took off the shirt I was wearing and pulled this one on over it and wandered over to my full length mirror. Not bad. My boobs still didn’t fill out the top as I would have liked it to, but I unbuttoned the top button to give the illusion of cleavage. How clever am I? The answer is very, I’m very clever. Digging deeper into the box, I felt a rougher material and discovered it to be a tutu that was dyed black. I remembered this: it was a Halloween costume to begin with but I did indeed fall in love with it. Attached to it was a pair of fishnet stockings. Excellent, I loved those things. Now all I needed to do was find my boots and I’d have a mood-appropriate outfit, and one that would also irritate Alexis. She never enjoyed my macabre mindset, but then again, I wasn’t too fond of the pink and lace thing she had going on. Yet we still loved each other. Opposites attract? I think so. I was rather sick of thinking about the impending doom that was the reunion, so I tossed the outfit into a laundry basket and kicked the empty box back into my closet. I walked into the kitchen and began to boil water. I was in the mood for Ramen Noodles. But then again, when was I not in the mood for Ramen Noodles? In order to escape the dark high school thoughts that were rampaging through my mind, I figured a good college meal would cheer me right up. With a glance to the pile of books awaiting me on my coffee table, I quickly decided against doing anything productive for the rest of the night. After a hot shower, I walked about five steps until jumping from my door to my bed, my floor was rather messy. You know what they say, creative minds are rarely tidy. I fell asleep and dreamed about a prison where my old principal was the executioner. The next week was a blur of classes and homework. Semester’s end was approaching and I decided to kick it into gear, like I had every single year in college. Slack off until a week before semester, then cram and hope to not fail the classes that I was paying for. It worked rather well, a fail proof system one might say. I was never in a good mood during those cramming weeks, but that was to be expected I suppose. Friday came and so did my final exam. My nerves were shot and I was loaded up on caffeine from a last minute late night cram session the night before. I drove back to my apartment and fell on the couch, hoping to sleep for the next 12 hours. I dozed off but awoke to the sound of my phone ringing, fell off the couch and smacked my head on the coffee table. Letting out a string of profanities, I went to answer the phone. “G’morning sweetheart!” yelled Alexis when I answered. I cringed at the volume of her voice and once again held the receiver away from my ear. “What do you want? I’m exhausted,” I complained into the phone. “I’m coming over, we’re going to have a sleepover, just like high school so we can get in the mood for tomorrow.” Oh, right, the reunion. That had completely slipped my mind and had gotten lost somewhere between lack of sleep and exams. “Can’t I come over there? My apartment’s a mess, I don’t know where we can sleep,” I asked her, hoping that she might just change her mind about the whole sleepover plan. “No, I’m already half way there, so just hold tight and we can party in about 10 minutes, by!” I hung up the phone and looked around my apartment, it was indeed a mess. Clothes everywhere, half unpacked boxes and books scattered across the floor. I debated whether or not to try to clean anything up, and decided against it. I did Alexis and myself the liberty of making my bed and kicking some stuff out of the way on my bedroom floor. She had this thing where she hated to sleep on couches, so that meant we were going to be sharing my twin bed. After my extensive cleaning, I sat down on the couch and grabbed the remote to my stereo, turning it up and waiting for Alexis to burst in (she didn’t like knocking either). Just as I was getting up to change the CD, I was startled at the door slamming open and Alexis running in to tackle me right back on the couch. “AMY!” She yelled as I fought to get out from under her, “I am so excited! I haven’t seen you in, like, forever,” “A week, Lex. It’s been a week, remember? We’re in Psych together…still” I said as I finally pushed her over so she was sitting next to me. My head was starting to hurt from the brief lack of oxygen to my brain and the thought that in 20 hours I’d be on my way driving to my old high school. Twenty hours until I’d have to see the people I thought I’d left behind forever. At least it didn’t seem to faze Alexis; perhaps if I just hung by her the whole night, she’d do the talking for the both of us. Then again, maybe I’d get lucky and just die or go into a coma before having to go at all. With a burst of genius, Alexis decided that another outstanding way to high school-ize ourselves was to watch the first two seasons of The O.C. and crack open a case of Miller. Of course I’d never object to either, so I decided to try to enjoy myself. I was doing a pretty decent job of doing just that, and also enjoying the company of Alexis. I have always gotten rather lonely during exam week, most likely because I completely isolate myself from human contact and rely solely on the ever-so-wonderful company of Psychology 203 and Introduction to Novel Writing Skills. Hours and a 12 pack later, I was starting to yawn. After about the sixth one in a row, I promptly received a smack on the head. “What was that for?!” I asked after smacking her back. “You’re making me tired. Knock it off!” Alexis said as she attempted to stifle a yawn of her own. I laughed at her and stretched my arms out. After another half hour of The O.C., I’d had my fill of pretty rich girls for the night. “Are you ready for bed?” I asked Alexis, and grinned when she jerked her head up and said in a groggy voice, “I’m awake!” “Yeah, I know, but I’m getting tired, would you like to call it a night? We’ve got a long day of torture tomorrow,” I said, and ignored the way she rolled her eyes at the torture comment. She did, however, agree to calling it night, it was after all three in the morning. We both got up and headed on over to my bedroom. “Wow, good thing you cleaned up so well,” Alexis said sarcastically when I turned on the lights. I stuck my tongue out at her. “Well, fine then, if this isn’t pleasing to you, the couch is open,” I said and waited for a reaction. “No, no it’s fine,” she said and leaped on the bed. That’s pretty much what I expected. I set my alarm for noon because we’d probably sleep until then and we’d have to leave by around two o’clock. I turned out the lights and got into bed, yanking away some of the blankets Alexis had already stolen from me. With a final yawn, I fell asleep and had yet another dream about the prison I was about to face after I had left for five years. What woke me in the morning was not that of the sound of my alarm clock, but the sound of the shower that was directly across the hall from my room. I turned over and my back and winced at the sunlight coming through the window. I saw that Alexis had already gotten up, and it was only nine A.M. I groaned and pulled the sheets over my head. Judgment day, I thought to myself as I finally put my legs over to one side and stood up, feeling the wrath of the few beers I had last night. I yawned and walked out into the kitchen, pouring a bowl of cereal. I was groggily munching away on the couch when I heard the shower shut off. Twenty minutes later, Alexis walked out in a cloud of steam. She looked gorgeous to say the least. Her straight brown hair was pulled up in a simple bun that still looked delicate and intricate. To fit her tall, curvy figure, she wore a pink sweater and a pair of tan pants, with black heels that mad her legs look like they went on for miles. Her eyes were dusted with a light colored powder -- she was just stunning. I silently envied her for a second before saying, “Wow, nice, I bet the whole football team will be all over you, not that they weren’t in high school. Is it my turn in the bathroom?” “Oh shut up, they will not be. Besides I’m sure none of them could read the invite, it was in that fancy cursive writing,” she laughed and continued, “but yeah the bathroom’s open,” she walked over to the kitchen and got herself some cereal as well. I got up, dropped my bowl in the sink, and headed into the bathroom. I got in the shower and in about half the time it took Alexis, I was out again. I looked in the mirror and wondered what to do with myself. Saving my hair for last, I wrapped it in a towel, grabbed my eyeliner and went to work. I always loved to be creative with makeup and that’s why I loved liquid eyeliner. With a few swoops of the brush and some mascara, I was finished with that. I took the towel off my head and dropped it on the ground. My mohawk was dyed purple this month, my favorite thus far. I took some hair glue and pulled it through my hair until it stood up stick straight. I grabbed my razor and some cream, and shaved the sides of my head until they were nice and smooth. I wrapped a towel around myself and headed into my room to get dressed. I pulled on my tights and skirts, then buttoned up my shirt and walked out into the living room. Alexis whistled and said, “Well aren’t you looking sharp! You know, if you put on a white shirt I think that…” “No,” I cut her off. “You know if you put on a black shirt…” “You know what, never mind, I like the black on you,” she said quickly. She smiled at me and I smiled back. My smile faded as I remembered the horrible truth that was the reunion. I did realize that it was only a few hours at my old school, but that seemed like more than enough. Now who do I want to see first? The girl who ratted my drinking out to my parents? The guy who cheated on me during prom? Even better, the school board that I frequently challenged, I’m sure they’d love to see me. Alexis clapped in front of my face and brought me out of my back flash of unfortunate events. “Let’s go!” she yelled and turned to walk out the door. I grabbed my boots and took a minute to lace them up and then reluctantly followed, turning off the lights and locking the door behind me. I clomped down the stairs and waited for Alexis by the elevators. I prefer the stairs for a little exercise, but that’s never been the case for Alexis. I patiently waited until the little red light above the doors halted at the first one. The elevator beeped and the doors slid open. She jumped out and grabbed my arm as she walked by. I laughed to myself as I wondered what other people were thinking as they saw this scene. The Blonde Bombshell dragging the Bride of Frankenstein behind her like some sort of rag doll. If I was on the outside looking in, I’d probably be at least mildly amused. But I’ve always had a darker sense of humor.
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Copyright © 2006 Cassie L Williamson |