The Reunion
Mike tossed a light jacket into the passenger side of the car, placed his phone into the raised holder in his console, entered the address of the restaurant, and started the car. The day of the friend's reunion was finally here!
Many of the best times of Mike's life had occurred in the company of the friends he was about to see, yet he had lost touch with many of them over the years. But after the death of two dear acquaintances from other stages of his life, he made the decision to attempt to contact as many of his friends from that time, the late 70's/early 80's, especially Sheri, Madeline (Lean), Brianna (Bri), Greg, Brian, Samantha (Sam), Tom, Jack and Julie.
It had taken a month or so for Mike to reconnect with all of those dearest of friends from his early twenties. A few he had been in contact with lately, a few he found quickly through contacts he had retained. A couple he internet stalked, tapping informational leads into a google search, clicking on possibilities until the correct version of the name he was seeking appeared.
Eventually, Mike spoke to them all, except Sheri who was difficult to track down even though it became clear that, not only had two of the friends seen her in the past 5 or 6 years, but that they lived within a mile of her apartment. Finally, after leaving 2 text messages on possible phone numbers, both of which were responded to with polite but firm, no, I am not Sheri, he decided to stop by her place without notice. A bold move to say the least, and one which Sheri repeatedly said, after the fact, "who does that?". But it worked, not because she answered the door, but because she called him that evening, responding to the phone number he wrote on a piece of junk mail he found in her mailbox.
During that conversation, Sheri used that same phrase of who does that when she recalled how Mike had ridden his bicycle from their home turf to her new place which was over 300 miles away. Mike allowed her that memory, knowing that, while he had made that journey just to see her, he had actually hitch hiked, a mode of long- distance transportation he had used a number of times in those days.
Mike's drive to the restaurant was about 45 minutes, but all highway travel, so it was easy for him to fall into a mostly pleasant reverie, punctuated by one extremely sad memory. During many of the conversations that Mike had with his friends, he often referred to his desire to avoid their own collective Big Chill moment. He became determined, almost obsessively so, to make sure that their first reunion was not at a funeral service. Yet, just about a month before today, some of them had, in fact, saw each other for the first time at a life celebration for Brian, who had passed away suddenly. For the umpteenth time, Mike shook his head, wiped a tear from his eye, and thought of Brian.
Mike met many of these friends at McDonalds. He couldn't recall who he met first, or even who he actually worked with and who he met after his brief 6 month employment, but he remembered many parking lot meetings, many picnics, and gatherings which featured McDonalds food. It was a glorious, youthful time of late night and weekend parties, laughter, drives in The Harvester, hanging out in the Little Room and, at the various places that were lived in separate from parents.
Not to mention the college visitation parties!
Jack was the oldest of the group, so the first to go off to college. He was one of the funniest people Mike ever met, yet also the smartest, a physics major. There was not a comment that Jack could not twist into a joke. One of his favorites was "that's what she said last night". It was good, not only for sexual jokes, but pretty much for any situation. When someone received a joint that was at the end of its life, and said "It's so small I can barely get my lips on it", well, you know what Jack said!
Brianna was the next to go off to college, even though Mike, Greg and Brian were older. As it turned out, she was the last of the group to attend college in those days, although many of his friends, including himself, eventually spent some of their mid to late 20's in a higher education setting.
Bri went to a school within spitting distance of the Three Mile Island nuclear generating station. At the time of the radiation leak, Mike, Lean and Jack drove to TMI in direct contradiction of the governor's advice, and common sense. Their "nuclear weekend" was as good as any, even though Bri had fled the college (smart girl), and the 3 friends were forced to stay in her dorm room with her roommate.
Brianna lost her father during those youthful days. Mike wrote her a poem called "I lost my Dad" in an attempt to console her and commemorate her father. That gesture, and the time he spent with her during those difficult times had cemented their relationship, marked the point where their friendship, while still platonic, entered a new level of closeness.
And then there were the trips to Bloomsburg College, where Mike's best friend was enrolled. The parties were epic, sleep non-existent. Without going into details, there were some after hour visits to the local hospital which did not have locks on their outside fences behind which were stored nitrous oxide tanks. Laughing gas. If you can envision a party where, on one side there are a few people standing in line at a keg, cup or glass in hand, while on the other side of the room there is a nitrous tank, with a warm towel wrapped around the bottom, with a few people standing in line, hefty bag in hand, well, that was the scene in Bloomsburg, off campus housing, of course.
Mike pulled into the restaurant parking lot, drove around the back and parked. He was about 15 minutes early, in hopes of getting an outside table for the group, but as he walked from his car, Brianna and Julie pulled up as well. Mike gave them both a hug.
Julie lived out of state, so was planning to stay overnight at Bri's house. She was one of the first friends who had made the decision to "grow up", which in their case meant less partying, and who had returned to college to get her degree, which led to a very successful working career. Mike loved all his female friends from that time, but was most impressed with Julie's accomplishments, which he told her during their few phone conversations. She was an example of a true American success story, having overcome many obstacles with persistence and faith.
Madelene (Lean) was the next to arrive. She was the youngest of the girls of the group, yet had curiously spent much of that time dating Jack, the oldest. Mike always considered her a younger sister, and, despite the fact that she was injured in a car accident in which he was driving, she thought of him as someone she could count on for anything. They even lived together, briefly, after her breakup with Jack, during the fall semester of Mike's last year of college when he was student teaching in the area.
Mike had also hitch hiked to see Lean when she moved out of state, the last of his long trips dependent on other's vehicles, this one over 1500 miles. She was living with Jack, so it was not just a reunion of two but three. Even though Mike struggled to get home by the thumb, eventually taking a bus instead, that was a visit that would always stay in his memory as one of the best, with two of his best friends.
Once seated, Brianna whipped out the pictures she brought for the first four arrivals to review. They were amazing. Almost every picture evoked a memory or many memories, in addition to the common comments, "look how thin, and look how young we look". Not all of the pictures were of people from the main group of friends, which reminded all of them how many individuals flitted in and out of their lives during those years, and in the years since.
Greg and Sam arrived next, having met in the parking lot. They joined their friends in ordering a drink, and scanning through the pictures.
Two of the pictures showed Greg with his eventual wife. He was the first of the group to be married, Mike being honored to have been the best man. Greg proudly spoke of his children and grandchildren, he and Lean being the only two to be able to brag about being a grandparent. While Mike was sketchy on who he worked with at McDonalds, he did remember that he and Greg worked the 6 AM to 2 PM shift during his tenure there. They laughed, remembering the manager who primed his workers with robins eggs to help handle the breakfast and lunch rushes. That guy used to slide around the counter into the backroom in his shiny shoes to check on their progress, then go sliding back to check on the counter staff. He was truly a beneficiary of the helpers he provided them.
Greg was the main driver of the group, the owner of the Harvester, an almost truck like vehicle with a front bench seat, and a removable back bench seat that was often jettisoned to accommodate the friends when they parked in various driveways, playing all sorts of card games that involved drinking. One such game, named Driveway, involved a bit of math, and drinking. Mike went on to use that game during his brief teaching career, sans drinking, of course. Mike wondered if he had ever thanked Greg for the countless times that he drove the group from one great adventure to another, whether it was just around the neighborhood or to Philly or DC or the innumerable rock concerts they attended in those times.
Mike's favorite memory of Greg was the morning Greg slipped on a pickle while at work, landing with one arm on the grill. Mike didn't see the fall, but noticed Greg shooting special sauce on the Big Macs in a haphazard way. When pressed, Greg showed him the ugly burn on his arm. Even though it was just McDonalds, Greg was as loyal an employee, and a friend, as they come. But oh, the damage a wayward pickle can do!
Whereas Mike loved all his female friends, Sam was the one he spent the most time with, the woman who introduced him to the world of love. He regretted most having lost touch with her, although they had reconnected a few years ago when he heard about her husband's illness. They were communicating regularly now, and, while he still could experience the feelings he had those many years ago, he also knew that a renewed friendship was so much more rewarding, so much more meaningful. When she smiled at him across the table, he didn't need the pictures to remind him how her smile first attracted him to her, and how, no matter how we change with age, a smile is as good as anything to remind one of youth and happiness.
Tom was the last to arrive. Mike had seen him for the first time in 15 years, at least, at Brian's life celebration event. Tom had forgotten to change out of his suit when he left work, so when he came up to Mike and thanked him for attending, Mike thought he was the funeral guy, being the only man in a suit. This was especially humorous, since it was Tom who had told everyone in no uncertain terms that there should be no ties or suits at the event, per Brian's instruction.
Tom was the youngest of the group, the true baby-faced one. He had also gone on to college later in life. It struck Mike for the first time how odd it was that so many of this group had attended college later in life than the standard, right after high school. It also struck Mike that the math said that all those parties that Tom, and Lean as well, took part in were before that magic age of 21. Tom was the only one of the group to volunteer for the military, having spent a summer away at boot camp. Mike recalled how surprised he had been at this decision, wondered if it was a reaction to the group sometimes being a bit derisive towards Tom's age, as if Tom wanted to prove he was on par with his older friends by one upping them by serving. He vaguely remembered speaking with Brian about this, all those years ago, but couldn't remember what conclusions they had drawn.
Mike's favorite memory of Tom, while not necessarily complimentary, was during their trip to DC. Tom had bumped into a display of the Constitution, almost knocking it out of its sacred case. The group reminded Tom of this clumsy encounter often, and mercilessly in the following weeks. I guess that is what you do to your baby siblings, heaping friendly abuse on them to show them your love.
Just about on cue, a picture landed in front of Mike, a picture of a young, vibrant, smiling Brian, shirtless on a summer day, at one of their many softball games. When Mike first started contacting everyone about a reunion, no one was as enthusiastic as Brian. He wanted it to be at his house, a weekend affair. As a precursor to the reunion, Mike had organized a smaller reunion at Brian's with just himself, Greg and Lean, although, on the actual day, Lean had to cancel.
When Mike arrived and knocked on the door, Brian called out "door's open, come in". Mike entered a darkened room, Brian sitting with his back to the door, a blanket covering his lap. Mike sat in an adjacent chair and looked at his friend, trying not to convey any shock in his face. Brian did not look well, not just older but also not healthy. Later, when he went to the bathroom, Mike understood why he hadn't answered the door when he activated the lift mechanism on his chair to get up, then used a walker to navigate out of sight to the bathroom. Worse, while some of their conversation was upbeat, dotted with laughter about the old days, some of it was regretful about decisions made, and not made. Brian had been the life of the party, the go to guy for fun ideas and activities. Now, he seemed a shell of himself.
Later, outside, when he and Greg left, he asked Greg about Brian's health, and how, such a vibrant, young man had become so sickly, and despondent. Greg was hesitant to talk about his friend, someone whom he had stayed in touch with over the years, unlike Mike. But gradually the story emerged, a story of difficult relationships, especially that all important relationship we need to have with our self.
As the empty food containers and bottles mounted, the friends' conversations toggled from memories to present day life to memories again. Despite the distance of time, their friendships glowed through. At one point, their server, a young girl probably the same age as they had been, asked Mike for details about why they were together. She seemed to get it, seemed impressed by their desire to see each other again after all that time. Mike wondered if it would inspire her to do something similar sometime in her future, and then laughed to himself wondering what a reunion would be like in 40 years, and how it would be affected by 40 years of technological advances.
When it was time to go, everyone seemed torn between the requirements of their lives, the restrictions of their age, and their desire to reenact, if only a little, their shared adventures. They hugged and kissed, and promised each other another reunion in the much nearer future than the time that had passed before today's.
Mike walked with Sam and Tom to their cars, said one last goodbye, then strolled to his vehicle. On the way home, he laughed at the memory of the picture they had taken, the 7 of them around the table, smiling broadly. He also fought off some tears, sad that Brian had not been there with them, would never be there with them again, although he assumed it was Brian, looking down from above who had produced such a beautiful fall day that enabled them to sit outside.
Mike also reflected on why he had allowed these special people to float out of his life. Sure, everyone matured at different rates, some eschewing the party life for adulthood, and certainly marriage and family obligations can interfere with old friendships. But his two oldest friends whom he still regularly saw, predated this group, so it wasn't merely the length of time that got in the way.
Do we lose touch to more easily separate the phases of our life, compartmentalizing the party days from the early marriage days from the family oriented days on purpose? And if so, is that to make it easier to know who we are depending on what stage we are in? Or to make it clear that "those" days are past, almost as if any bad or irresponsible behavior on our part can be dismissed as just an ex-version of ourselves, not a reflection of who we are today?
Mike always defended "today's kids" when people his age complained that the youth of today don't want to work, are selfish, expect too much, etc. While he certainly didn't behave today as he did at 20 or 22, it didn't mean he wasn't just as selfish then, living for the moment, not worried about the future or the consequences of his actions. Isn't that what youth is about, having fun, living for now, making mistakes and beginning that long, never ending process of understanding who one is, and wants to be? Didn't every generation think the next lazy? And wasn't it really a product of a jealousy that they were not young anymore? He recalled one his favorite Socrates quotes, over 2 thousand years old.
“The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. Children are now tyrants, not the servants of their households. They no longer rise when elders enter the room. They contradict their parents, chatter before company, gobble up dainties at the table, cross their legs, and tyrannize their teachers.”
Mike pulled into his driveway, turned off the car, and sat in the dark for a few moments. It had been a wonderful evening, ending too soon as great times seem to do. Sharing memories with and without inspiration from the pictures that Bri brought, especially those with Brian, caused a wave of sadness to cascade over and through Mike. Such glorious times, such beautiful friends. He wiped his eyes, slightly shook his head one more time in regret over Brian's missing their reunion, and renewed his determination to make sure their next gathering was soon, and as joyful as today's.
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This is the 2nd of two stories about Mike. In the first, for which I have provided a link below, Mike spends an afternoon at a funeral. During the drive to and from, he reminisces about this particular friend and the friend he had lost just a month earlier, and then vows to do more to reconnect with his past friends.
https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2022/03/death-and-friends.html
