Five years and counting

Deep in the back of my mind, there was a fantasy of showing up to my high school reunion in a limo, dressed in a tailored suit, a gorgeous blonde hanging off of my arm, by far the most successful person to come out of Honesdale High School’s Class of 2002.

I’m kidding, kind of.

If you had asked me during my senior year of high school if I would be going to my five-year reunion, I would have told you, “no way.” I was very bitter and wanted to leave and not return, at least not without the limo. Interesting, how time changes your perspective. I was now excited to see my former classmates.

The reunion was nothing formal. We would all meet at a bar and hang out.

Tick Tocks is right across the street from the high school. On the way there, I pulled my car into the student parking lot. It was more out of habit then anything. I never actually made the decision to do it. In an instant, my blinker was on, the muscles in my hands making the left turn and all of a sudden, I was standing alone in the empty parking lot.

It looked exactly the same as I remembered and I half expected to be transported back in time, to be 17 years old again?part of some romantic comedy movie plot where I would relive my senior year and reconnect with my high school sweetheart and, in the end, learn some sort of valuable lesson about life that I knew then but had forgotten since.

The wind gusted me back to reality and I breathed a sigh of relief. I would not be returning to high school for longer than just tonight. I hopped back into the car and parked it neatly across the street in the largely crowded Tick Tocks parking lot.

The internet has changed the way my generation is connected. With websites like myspace and facebook, I have been able to keep tabs on many of my classmates, spying on them late at night-looking at their photos, surveys and gossip. It’s a little creepy when you think about how much is available to someone with an internet connection and a laptop, if they know where to look.

I entered the bar and looked around, recognizing a handful of people immediately.

Some were taller or had gained a little weight and there was significantly more facial hair, but no transformations like the ones you secretly hope to see. Everyone looked and acted basically the same. We were all so perfectly aged, five years to the T. Everyone I recognized brought a smile to my face, a returning guest star in the sitcom of my life. I half expected to hear canned audience applause.

“What have you been up to?” was the question of the night and I answered it the same number of times that I asked it. I tailored my response based on the reaction from the previous conversation. I was able to practice the jokes and refine my delivery over the night-adding different details to the same story. I figured out how long I had someone’s attention before their eyes glazed over and they started nodding politely, waiting for me to finish.

It was really fascinating to talk to everyone. I was interested in hearing what they had to say. I found that most were much more insightful then I remembered and silently hoping they found the same true about me.

Sara is a chemist for Pepsi. Mark is a teacher in Philadelphia. Derek wears a tie to work. Chad was in Iraq. Sean is a high school teacher. Sometimes Brian subs. He doesn’t like it very much; they call you really early in the morning. Jess occasionally reads my column and made me promise repeatedly that she wouldn’t be in it. Sorry Jess.

Many of them are engaged or married, some have children.

There was a wonderful sense of camaraderie in the room; the strange underlying competition of high school was gone. My limo fantasy faded deeper into the back of my mind.

As I was leaving, I wished everyone good luck, and meant it.

Zachary Stuart-Pontier