“Hello,” I say, as my hand extends to yours. I’ve read your nametag, although I recognize you all the same. Your hair has changed, and you wear your glasses now, but otherwise you’re still the same woman I fell in love with over a decade ago.
I guess that’s the allure and the danger of ten year reunions. You never know who’s going to show up. I guess ex lovers who were in the same graduating class as you are a given, but they really should put that down as one of the events.
I can see the pamphlet now.
Attendance would sky rocket, I’m sure.We parted in a complicated manner then, but I say hello anyway. It’s not as how I imagined it to be. I see the ring on your finger, the swell of your belly and I look around for him.
And me, well, I can’t tell you about what’s happened to me, because I don’t know. You’re with child, and me, I’m still in the same place that I’ve been for the last ten years.
Oh, I may have lost weight and cut my hair, but I’m still me.
And is that a measure of how much I’ve stagnated? During the idle times, between girlfriends, between lovers, I wondered “What if?” What if things were different, but they weren’t and perhaps it’s best that way.
We were both too stubborn for our own good then.
I don’t believe in fate, but I do believe that we were good for each other once, and we can always have those good times in our memories.
Then your husband shows up and you introduce me as a friend from college. Things certainly are different, and he couldn’t be more different from me.
Tall, ruggedly handsome, facial hair.
White.
There are just some ways I can’t compete. We introduce each other but I forget his name quickly, more out of my nature than malice. I have to keep looking for the name tag every time I want to ask him a question. He’s a legal professional of some sort, and I assume you’re both doing well.
After appetizers and too expensive drinks the night ends quickly, with me flitting about from person to person. Acquaintances quickly remade then just as quickly forgotten. Old dorm neighbors and resident assistants and classmates of a life lived a decade ago.
And there you are, with him, like a rock throughout. You leave early, but not before saying goodbye and kissing me on the cheek. You turn quickly, before I can respond. You remove your name tag and throw it away, not noticing as I watch you step back into your new life.
Then you’re gone.
The drinks and the rented space don’t last forever, and I start making my way outside. On the way, I make promises with everyone to keep in touch, although I know I won’t. Business cards fill my pockets, and images of people I once knew fill my camera. Both to be filed away into folders both material and digital, never to be seen again. I say my goodbyes and slip unnoticed down the stairwell towards the main doors.
I struggle through heavy wooden doors, out of air heavy with alcohol and old dreams, and step into the city night. I feel the rain on my face as I walk towards the metro, waking me, step by step, drop by drop from the false weariness of too much beer and too little food.
Step by step, I walk back into my life.
Step by step, away from you and the might have been.
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