Welcome Home
As is typical for me, the morning got away from me. I went to dance and took a jog/walk with the dog and took a bath. I checked the time expecting it to be 10am and it was actually 11am. I panicked and rushed to get ready. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and thought, "Dammit, I forgot to lose ten pounds, color my hair and get my eyebrows waxed." I went anyway.
I drove North to my little hometown of 30,000 people. I drove the highway I drove so many times to go to debate tournaments or cross country meets in Lincoln. I was driving away from my home while somehow "returning home" - whatever that is.
Michele arranged for us to meet at Runza. As I pulled into town and passed the golf course where her house was and the river where we hung out and the road around the lake that I would ride on my bike I felt myself choking up. The town festival was in full swing as I drove past the city park. I passed the McDonalds where I once worked and the Mall where I hung out - all on the "Square" (like the strip or drag or whatever other small town name there is) which I idly wondered about - do teens still drive the Square in these days of $4+ gas? I wondered if I would recognize her when I got to the place, but of course it was easy. She stood and smiled and hugged me. And Dave showed up next driving a giant red pickup. I hugged him with exuberance and we ordered cheese Runzas and crinkle fries. John came through the door with a grin and a hug, and by now I had relaxed and felt only happiness to be together in this town again.
This is us twenty years later I thought. The faces are the same but different. What is most the same is the people behind the faces. At one point I reached out and touched John's hands. I had forgotten how he gestured when he was making a point, but of course I had not really forgotten, because when I saw his hands come together and separate to make a small chopping sensation, I remembered. Debate class, debate practice, debate research, debate tournaments, including overnights, and even debate camp in the summer. I didn't spend more time with anyone in high school than these three people. I wonder sometimes if the four of us would have otherwise been friends. It was a small debate team (just the second year in existence when I joined it) and our coach was young and we were talented, but clueless.
They were surprised to see that I came with piles of papers - mostly notes from my friend Michele, she would write me notes every day - a previous generation's text messages or blog - but also the postcards she sent me from Europe and from college. Dave was surprised to see that I had the birthday card that he gave me for my sixteenth birthday. (I also have his letters from his years in the Navy - I did not bring those with me.) John pulled out the old debate ballots and laughed at the nicknames our coach put on the practice round ballots. He was incredulous that I had an old case that I had written and that he had added to - my small, perfect cursive with his confident script noted in the margin.
We were there all afternoon. Michele and I finally left at 5:00 and went to visit Dave's mom before heading to the cocktail reception. The reception had old pictures and 80s memorabilia everywhere.
Michele swears she will come back for the next reunion and I think that she just might.
"There's been enough time," she said, by explanation about why she returned.
Both she and I had a rough high school experience. And our parents moved out of town, hers to Canada and mine to Texas, so there was no reason to go back until we wanted to. But she's right, there's been enough time now.
I kept those papers because they were the best part of my life at that time. They represent fun and friends and my home.
I drove North to my little hometown of 30,000 people. I drove the highway I drove so many times to go to debate tournaments or cross country meets in Lincoln. I was driving away from my home while somehow "returning home" - whatever that is.
Michele arranged for us to meet at Runza. As I pulled into town and passed the golf course where her house was and the river where we hung out and the road around the lake that I would ride on my bike I felt myself choking up. The town festival was in full swing as I drove past the city park. I passed the McDonalds where I once worked and the Mall where I hung out - all on the "Square" (like the strip or drag or whatever other small town name there is) which I idly wondered about - do teens still drive the Square in these days of $4+ gas? I wondered if I would recognize her when I got to the place, but of course it was easy. She stood and smiled and hugged me. And Dave showed up next driving a giant red pickup. I hugged him with exuberance and we ordered cheese Runzas and crinkle fries. John came through the door with a grin and a hug, and by now I had relaxed and felt only happiness to be together in this town again.
This is us twenty years later I thought. The faces are the same but different. What is most the same is the people behind the faces. At one point I reached out and touched John's hands. I had forgotten how he gestured when he was making a point, but of course I had not really forgotten, because when I saw his hands come together and separate to make a small chopping sensation, I remembered. Debate class, debate practice, debate research, debate tournaments, including overnights, and even debate camp in the summer. I didn't spend more time with anyone in high school than these three people. I wonder sometimes if the four of us would have otherwise been friends. It was a small debate team (just the second year in existence when I joined it) and our coach was young and we were talented, but clueless.
They were surprised to see that I came with piles of papers - mostly notes from my friend Michele, she would write me notes every day - a previous generation's text messages or blog - but also the postcards she sent me from Europe and from college. Dave was surprised to see that I had the birthday card that he gave me for my sixteenth birthday. (I also have his letters from his years in the Navy - I did not bring those with me.) John pulled out the old debate ballots and laughed at the nicknames our coach put on the practice round ballots. He was incredulous that I had an old case that I had written and that he had added to - my small, perfect cursive with his confident script noted in the margin.
We were there all afternoon. Michele and I finally left at 5:00 and went to visit Dave's mom before heading to the cocktail reception. The reception had old pictures and 80s memorabilia everywhere.
Michele swears she will come back for the next reunion and I think that she just might.
"There's been enough time," she said, by explanation about why she returned.
Both she and I had a rough high school experience. And our parents moved out of town, hers to Canada and mine to Texas, so there was no reason to go back until we wanted to. But she's right, there's been enough time now.
I kept those papers because they were the best part of my life at that time. They represent fun and friends and my home.
posted by Lea at 5:47 PM
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